Monster Hospital, Book Three: Werewolves
by The Batchild
Summary: Amelia contacts the boys. Asher's gone missing and Amelia thinks it has something to do with the werewolf they were hunting. Sam and Dean come to the rescue, and uncover something they didn't think was possible. Will they be able to save Asher?
1. Chapter One: Distress

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book Three: Werewolves.  
**Chapter One: Distress.

* * *

The ceiling of the motel room was not interesting. It was just as uninteresting as the wall had been, as the inside of the fridge had been, as the late afternoon television had been. Sam had gone out for food, since it was his turn, and Dean wasn't looking forward to what his brother was going to bring back. The younger Winchester was determined to eat as healthy as he could, even on the road, and he had this annoying habit of trying to get his older brother to follow suit; the last time Sam had gone on a food run, he'd brought back Dean a veggie burger that had nearly made him puke.

In an attempt to occupy his mind beyond his grumbling stomach, Dean pulled out his cell phone and stared at the screen. Bobby had promised to call if he had any hot leads, but there was nothing. No messages. Dean sighed and tossed the phone on the bedside table and then laid back on the bed, listening to the drone of the television as the news anchor rattled on about some uninteresting local stories in a low, even voice. It was times like these that a tiny part of Dean wished he had a day job or something to keep him busy. There wasn't any where he could hustle poker or pool and the town was small enough that there wasn't anything other than a small strip mall that closed at five on Sunday.

Before Dean's musings could get much farther however, the rumble of the Impala's engine reached his ears and he sat up straight. A moment later, Sam appeared carrying two takeout bags and a tray with two sodas.

"What'd you get me?" Dean asked.

"Cheeseburger with bacon and fries."

Dean heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you Sammy."

Dean eagerly pulled the contents of the takeout bag Sam had dropped on the motel bed in front of him out and set them on the flattened bag. As he unwrapped the cheeseburger with all the fixings, his younger brother Sam arranged his food on the table in the kitchenette of their motel room, his actions divulging the neater personality Sam had. Dean dug into his burger with an enthusiasm that would have suggested he hadn't tasted beef in months as he flicked through the channels on the small, old television once again, looking for something suitably distracting to watch so he could refrain from thinking about the lack of hunts they had encountered lately. Once he had found a rerun of some sitcom that was mildly entertaining, Dean settled back against the pillows and the headboard and took a long drink from his Coke; they had run out of beer and harder liquor the day before and hadn't had time to refill the stash yet.

The Winchester brothers had been in the middle of west nowhere for almost a week now, looking for some sign—any sign—of a hunt of some kind. They had chased leads around the immediate area for a while and kept their eyes on the national papers and news sites, but nothing had come to fruition, making this stretch the longest quiet one they'd had in a long, long time; it was almost as if the supernatural world had gone temporarily dead. So they'd settled into the somewhat dingy motel room with its wood-panelled walls circa 1975 and its lime green and purple colour scheme and the tacky orange appliances in the kitchenette to wait. And wait. And wait.

Both the Winchesters were tired of waiting.

Just as Dean was about to start in on his fries, his cell phone rang. He listened to his current ring tone—"Bad Company" by Bad Company—for a few heartbeats before pulling it off the bedside table and glancing at the small display screen. It read Asher Michaels. "Hey," he said around a mouthful of fried potato.

Asher Michaels—hunter, friend, newly acquired fuck buddy and werewolf—hadn't phoned in quite some time, and she usually didn't unless she wanted help with a case, she was fighting with her adopted sister Amelia or she was making a booty call. The fiery young woman and her more even-tempered sister had become part of the ragtag family the Winchesters were gathering around themselves, a group that would do anything for each other, regardless of the personal danger posed; when dealing with a werewolf, personal danger was a very real threat. Dean knew Asher's call would be important, but that didn't mean there wasn't room for levity.

But it wasn't Asher's voice that came over the phone.

_"Dean?" _Amelia sobbed loudly.

He immediately pulled the phone away from his ear and put it on speaker phone and Sam took the hint to come closer so he could hear. "Amelia, what's wrong?" he asked.

_"It's Asher... I-I-I can't find her. She ran away. I don't know where she is!" _Amelia's voice cracked under the weight of emotion and sobbed again. Nearing the point of hyperventilation, the boys heard Amelia take several deep breaths, but nothing seemed to calm her down. _"I don't know what to do!" _She dissolved into hysterics of a level so intense that Sam and Dean weren't sure what to make of it. _"Ash... Ash..." _The repeated mumbling of her sister's name was all they could make out.

Dean looked up at Sam, who shrugged, a worried look on his face, and then said, "Amelia, take a moment and then tell us what happened."

They waited in silence, listening to the ragged inhalations of the distraught hunter on the other end of the line. After a moment, she began speaking and Dean could picture her pacing, running her fingers back through her blonde hair or maybe playing with the brim of her cowboy hat. _"Three nights ago, we rolled into Beaver Falls chasing a lead that sounded a lot like werewolves. It was stupid, so close to the full moon... but we came. Ash insisted..." _Amelia sobbed loudly, but brought herself under control before she dissolved into hysterics. When she continued speaking, her voice was shaky, like she was still crying, but she wasn't sobbing outright anymore. _"That night, Asher said she felt like she was going to change, so I went and got the chains to tie her to the bed—it's weird because she doesn't normally doesn't have to be chained until the moon is actually full, not a night or two before... Anyways, just as I was getting the chains hooked up, she... She attacked me!" _Her voice broke then. _"She attacked me and jumped out the window and ran away."_

Dean and Sam shared another look, their faces both grim, but there was an edge of something else... grief or rage or both in Dean's. "Where are you?" he asked roughly. Asher would never attack Amelia, not under the power of her own mind.

Once they had secured the address of the motel from Amelia, Dean started moving around the motel room in a determined flurry, gathering up his clothes and weapons and other belongings that had somehow spread over the entire room. Sam had his bag packed much quicker than his brother, so he began to clean up the garbage, more than a little alarmed when he found the rest of Dean's food untouched, including the pie; Sam racked his brain, but he couldn't recall another situation where Dean hadn't eaten his pie.

The Impala tore out of the parking lot twenty minutes later. It would have been sooner, but Sam had insisted on doing an once-over of the room to make sure they weren't forgetting anything. Dean had honked the horn the whole time Sam was checking the room, but he hadn't turned on the music when they'd started driving—another fact that had Sam a little worried.

"Dean," he asked once they were moving down a fairly deserted highway; it was nearly eleven at night so traffic was pretty minimal. "You seem to be taking this... hard."

"It's Asher, Sam," he snapped. When he turned his head to look at his brother, his hazel eyes were alight with fire. "This isn't just some girl—I _know _that's what you're thinking—this is Asher. This is someone who had risked her life for us and will continue to do so. She's in trouble and we... we have to help."

"And if... if she's beyond help?"

Dean gave his brother a ferocious glare, but he replied in a calm voice, "If that's the case... Then I should be the one to finish it." He clenched his jaw at the very thought, but it was true.

He might not have thought so as recently as four months ago, but the time spent with Asher at Bobby's, as they worked on her truck and she watched him rebuild the Impala, the time spent talking and wandering around the junk yard, salvaging parts... it had brought them closer, playing off the bizarre chemistry that had always existed between them. Asher—and by extension, Amelia—had stayed at Bobby's until Dean was finished with the Impala and was ready to continue hunting and face his father's death, and then the girls had taken off in the middle of the night without a goodbye. Dean owed her for the support she'd given him and if he could get her out of this werewolf debacle without having to put a silver bullet through her heart, he would consider the debt repaid, and he would be glad to not have to lose a friend.

The boys were forced to stop about three hours outside of the approximate location of Beaver falls because they could not keep their eyes open—they had changed drivers after about six hours, but neither of them had been able to sleep while the other drove. They parked the Impala outside a very, very sketchy motel and grabbed a room for the night. Combined with the tension and panic of having one of the friends in a potentially dire situation, the dilapidated beds under the thin brown comforters didn't offer much sleep, but they took what they could manage. After only about three hours they were back on the road, the engine of the Impala sounding louder than usual in the early morning world which was quite deserted.

Beaver Falls turned out to be a small hamlet of a place, more in the middle of nowhere than the boys had been before and the sign welcoming to the sleepy little place proclaimed a population of around five hundred. Dean slowed the Impala in an attempt to keep the rumbling engine from disturbing anyone, but also so he and Sam could keep an eye out for the side road that would lead to the motel. They passed a couple small boutique shops, both specializing in antiques and handmade products, as well as two mom-and-pop restaurants, a gas station, grocery store, and drug store. There wasn't a lot of activity around anywhere, but the side road turned out to be pretty easy to find, so, uncharacteristically, Sam and Dean didn't need any help to find the motel they were looking for.

The Three Pines motel was typical-looking, single storey and arranged in an L shape with the office located at the front. There were five vehicles in the parking lot, one by the office and the other four parked in front of various doors. Asher's black truck was parked in front of room fifteen. Dean pulled the Impala into the spot beside the truck and he and Sam climbed out of the vehicle, grabbing their bags before approaching the door.

Amelia didn't answer when they knocked.

Bags slung on their shoulders, Dean and Sam drew their handguns. Amelia was a hunter and she knew Sam and Dean were coming, but she was hysterical. Something could have happened. Dean tried the knob and found it unlocked and proceed first, gun pointed and ready and Sam right behind him; the younger Winchester shut and locked the door behind him as soon as Dean had determined there was nothing in the room aside from the young woman curled up on the floor, asleep and the phone by her head. The room was otherwise dark—the curtains were pulled over both the small windows—and there was a pile of takeout food wrappers and bags on the floor by the garbage bin as well as several empty bottles of beer scattered around the kitchenette. A faint smell of sweat, alcohol and blood hung around the room; the source of the blood was the coil of high silver content chains on the floor beside one of the beds.

Sam dropped to the floor beside Amelia as Dean went to the bed that had obviously been Asher's. She hadn't taken any of her things: her beautiful sawed-off shotgun was on the floor under the bed where she slept with it and her handgun was under her pillow. Asher would never go anywhere without her weapons and she would not leave them unattended. By the time he turned around, Amelia was awake and wrapped around Sam, sobbing loudly with her face pressed into his chest. From what Dean could see, Amelia's hair was a mess and her clothes were wrinkled and a little stained. As she was so usually put together, especially for a hunter, her disrupted state really set the boys one edge.

"Something's happened to her," Amelia blubbered after a moment. "I can feel it."

Dean sat on the end of Asher's bed and leaned forward, putting his head in his hands.

"We'll find her, Amelia," Sam said. "I promise."

Jaw set and eyes slightly narrowed, Dean looked up at his brother and his friend. "Tell us everything that happened, Amelia. Then we'll come up with a plan so we can find her."

* * *

**Author's Note.**

SUPERNATURAL IS BACK ON!

DEAN IS BACK, BABY!

*runs around screaming for a bit*

Okay, I'm done, but I am seriously, seriously excited about Supernatural being back. Something just feels right in the world when I have Dean and Sam to look forward to every week, and it's even more exciting because Lisa kicks ass and Dean is back to being Dean! *can't stop smiling*

Anyways, when it comes to my fic, I'm excited to write this book and I have some things to figure out with Asher, but we'll see where I end up. I have a while to go before I get to season six, but I'd like to know where I'm headed.

Enjoy!

**Next Chapter: Panic.**


	2. Chapter Two: Panic

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book Three: Werewolves.  
**Chapter Two: Panic.

* * *

Amelia had paced the motel room as she waited for Sam and Dean, wringing her hands and seriously contemplating all the horrid possibilities that could have befallen Asher since she'd attacked her and run off, half-changed and completely feral; that image would never leave Amelia's mind—Asher, eyes nearly white in a face that could no longer be called human and fingers more like claws raised, ready to strike. When midnight had come and gone and there was still no sign of the boys, Amelia had sat with her back against the wall and stared out at the room: the two beds, only one of which was made, the mess spreading out from Asher's bed and bag, the disaster Asher had turned the kitchenette into while looking for something to eat...

Asher was dead. She knew it.

She knew they boys would get here, they'd track Asher to wherever the hell she was and they would find her body, probably torn apart by something supernatural or shot by some unsuspecting human who had just seen a threat that needed to be stopped, or perhaps even by herself in order to stop herself from doing something horrible. She started hyperventilating as the gory images raced through her mind. Amelia wrapped her arms around her knees, which were already tight against her chest, and tried very hard to curl into a tiny, tiny ball so no one else in the connected rooms of the motel would hear her cries. She felt it was her fault that Asher got away. Amelia had known the full moon was coming, but she had put off chaining Asher up because she had seemed so in control; normally, she wouldn't have had to endure the silver chains until at least midnight, but the added influence of the other werewolf in the area must have pushed her over the edge. Or whatever it was that was causing all the attacks. _Something _had pushed Asher over the edge, had driven her mad.

By the time Sam and Dean had arrived, Amelia had passed out from exhaustion on the floor of the motel, cheeks tight with dried tears, blonde hair a rat's nest above her head and her cowboy hat, which she rarely took off, had fallen to the floor beside her. She was still curled into a tight ball. She awoke when Sam crouched beside her, a hand in her hair and a concerned look on his face. "Sam," she breathed, fingers scrambling to get a grip on his jacket.

He lifted her into an upright position easily and held her in his arms; she moaned in pain as her stuff joints moved again. "It's okay, Amelia," he said, brushing her tangled blonde hair from her eyes.

"No, no, no..." she breathed. "Something's happened to her..."

Sam continued to hush the distraught woman as his eyes drifted to Dean, who was poking around Asher's side of the room, expertly shifting the clothes and food wrappers and other debris that marked the disorganized state she entered close to the full moon; clearly, the girls had been here for a while before Asher had run off.

"She didn't take any weapons," Dean informed them, the tone of his voice indicating just how wrong that fact was.

Most hunters wouldn't go anywhere unarmed and Asher took that concept to extremes. Dean dropped onto the bed and retrieved Asher's sawed off shotgun from the space under the bed where she kept it when she slept and held it on his lap, staring at it as if he could get answers from the weapon. Sitting by his knee, retrieved from somewhere else, was the small high-silver content knife she kept strapped to her calf at all times in a special sheath that kept it from touching her skin and burning her. Almost absently, Dean picked up the knife and started fiddling with it.

"Tell us everything you can about what happened, Amelia," Sam said, shifting so his back was against the wall and he could still hold Amelia close, staving off her panic.

It took her a few minutes, but eventually the young woman started talking. "Well... we got into town and to the motel and everything seemed fine, just another hunt. Asher was angrier than normal, but I expected that... she's always angry when the full moon gets near..." Amelia sucked in a deep breath that shook slightly, but she didn't cry. "We started doing our research and figuring out a plan to find the wolf we were after. Around nine, Asher started to feel the change coming on and told me to get the chains... I should have guessed something was up. She's normally fine until closer to midnight..." When Amelia took a deep breath this time, her eyes filled with tears and the horrific images of her sister's demise were back. She took a brief moment to calm herself down and then continued, knowing the details of her story would likely prove important. "When I came back with the chains, Asher had started to change. The noise of the chains startled her and she turned and attacked... I smacked her with the chains and kept her from doing much damage, and then, just before she was about to attack again, she lifted her head and turned towards the window and then she ran and jumped through the glass and then she was gone." A few tears trickled down Amelia's cheeks and she pressed her face into Sam's shoulder, breathing a little heavier than before.

Dean sighed loudly and got to his feet, the sawed off still dangling from one hand and the knife from the other; the weapons were as much a part of Asher's human side as anything, and Dean was clinging to that. "It sounds like she wasn't in control," he said.

"She's never attacked me before," Amelia admitted, agreeing with Dean's assessment.

"What could control a werewolf?" the older Winchester asked.

It was Sam's turn to speak, displaying his not unimpressive knowledge and memory. "A witch could probably cook up a spell to control werewolves, same with demons or priests of some religions. I would imagine there would be voodoo spells for controlling beasts, but those are always tied to certain times of year or cycles of the moon—I guess that could be what we're dealing with, but this is the wrong part of the country for a lot of voodoo." Sam paused, deep in thought, one hand idly running over Amelia's hair. "I wouldn't say it was impossible for a more powerful werewolf to control less powerful ones—Asher's shown us that we don't know everything about werewolves, or much at all." He sighed, pulled Amelia a little closer as she sobbed, and said, "We'll find her Amelia."

"What if something's already happened to her? What if she's already dead?"

Dean's snort of laughter seemed to carry throughout the room. "Asher? She's too stubborn to die."

"She's not invincible Dean," Amelia barked, her grief and fear getting the best of her.

"Okay, say she is dead. She wouldn't have gone without taking whoever did this to her with her." He bared his teeth as he stared out the window—the gesture was oddly reminiscent of Asher. "But she's not dead."

"Dean," Amelia called with a different tone in her a voice, a tone of resignation. When the older Winchester was looking at her again, she spoke the words Dean had been waiting to hear. "If it comes to it... Will you..." She struggled to find the words, her eyes brimming with more tears. "Will you kill her?"

Even though he had known the request was coming, Dean wasn't really prepared for it. The bottom dropped out of his stomach and he couldn't stop his mind from seeing Asher's face at the end of the barrel of his gun. "Yeah," he said through the lump in his throat. "Yeah, I will."

Amelia nodded once and then leaned back into Sam and nothing more was said about Asher's inherent demise or her possible current state of life.

A tense moment passed and then Dean scrounged up some liquor for Amelia as Sam began to clean up the motel room, craving the organization in which he did his best work. Two glasses of scotch in, Amelia was passed out on the floor and Sam carried her to her bed, one leg hanging over the edge and her chestnut cowboy hat—which she'd retrieved at some point—on the pillow beside her head. Dean finished the nearly empty bottle of booze and then dropped onto Asher's bed, the sawed off on the bedside table, metalwork shining softly in the lamplight; the knife was sitting on top of the gun, it's blade gleaming dully. Sam settled himself on the couch, laptop open and fingers already moving as Dean kicked his boots off and tossed his jacket on the floor.

"Hey Dean," Sam called.

"Mhm?" Dean didn't open his eyes or even roll over.

"I'm sure Asher's fine. We'll find her."

Dean didn't respond to that, but part of him was glad for Sam's reassurance.

When Dean awoke the next morning, faint sunlight was streaming through the window and falling across his face. He sat up and blinked a few times before heading to the bathroom where he splashed some water on his face to wake up. When the last of the blurriness from sleep from gone, he looked at his watch and found that it was only eight-thirty in the morning and there wouldn't be much they could do except research and interviews to see if anyone had seen anything weird around town. As he walked back into the main room of the motel, he found that Sam had moved to Amelia's bed at some point in the middle of the night, and the young woman was curled tightly into his brother's chest and one of Sam's long arms was draped across Amelia's hips; the sight brought both a smile and a grimace to Dean's face. He had known something was going on between Sam and Amelia, but this was the first he'd actually seen of it.

It made him a little worried for Sam, who tended to get attached, and it made him miss Asher more.

He sighed and began searching for something to eat in the kitchenette. What he found was about what he expected from knowing Asher and Amelia—a half-eaten loaf of bread, a small jar of peanut butter, a small jar of jelly and a box of cold pizza. He pulled the meagre stores out and made himself a sandwich after opening the pizza box and meeting a nasty smell. The garbage Sam had cleaned up the night before was comprised mostly of fast food bags and wrappers and Dean knew that was because Asher could eat three times as much as Dean on a normal day and probably close to five or six times as much when she was close to changing, and most of that had to be protein. Watching the werewolf tear through a pile of burgers was something else—something that had made Dean laugh.

Sam was the next one to wake up and he followed Dean's example of making a PB&J sandwich. The only difference was that he made one for Amelia as well and set it aside for when she awoke.

"Did you find out anything?" Dean asked as he set about making a second sandwich. "I wish I had some milk."

Sam swallowed and said, "Yeah, actually. I was going over what Amelia and Asher had found and what had brought them here, and it sounds like they were dealing with more than one werewolf."

"What did bring them here?"

"A bunch of sudden attacks in the area where the victims were all missing their hearts," Amelia said from the bed. She took the sandwich Sam offered her and leaned into him as he sat down beside her; she seemed to take great strength from the presence of the younger Winchester. "They started suddenly about a week ago and there were seven victims in the first two nights, all of whom were missing their hearts and had been neatly torn limb from limb. Lots of blood and gore that Asher identified immediately as more than likely being caused by a werewolf. Asher and I had only gotten around to going to the latest crime scene—there were bloody paw prints everywhere that confirmed Asher's suspicions. The local police think it's a pack of rabid or wild dogs."

Sam nodded, but Dean asked, "Why didn't you call us right after Asher left?"

Amelia shrugged with one shoulder. "I thought she'd come back. She always comes back."

Which implied that she'd run off before, but sensing the emotion lurking just under the surface, Dean dropped that line of questioning and turned his attention back to Sam. "What else did you find?"

"In Dad's journal, I found an account of a witch controlling a werewolf to do her bidding, but the spell is very difficult and can only be performed in December, the month of the Winter Solstice, so that's not what we're dealing with. There's a ton of lore about werewolves living in packs like natural wolves, but we've never encountered anything like that and neither did Dad."

"What about Bobby?"

"He hasn't," Amelia said. She was nibbling on the edge of her sandwich; clearly she wasn't interested in eating. "I called him when Asher and I broached the idea of this being more than one wolf. He said we shouldn't rule it out though."

Dean nodded and ran his hands backwards over his short brown hair. "All right. Why don't you two stay here and continue doing research and I'll head out into town and see if I can find anything weird? I'll do some interviews, check on the crime scenes. Werewolves don't attack during the day, so I don't need a second."

Neither Sam nor Amelia looked particularly pleased with the idea, but neither of them said anything. Dean suspected this was because Amelia knew she needed to rest and that the likeliness she'd go all hysterical wouldn't be of any help. Sam wanted to watch over Amelia; he was worried about her and Dean could see it on his brother's face.

Dean loaded his favourite nickel-plated handgun with silver bullets—they wouldn't kill werewolves, unless the bullet went through the heart, but they would slow them down—and then went to do the same with Asher's shotgun, only to find it was already loaded for wolf; Asher would have loaded the proper ammunition as soon as they had an idea of what they were hunting; the silver shells were handmade like Dean's own, and the craftsmanship was exquisite. Asher enjoyed making ammo and she was good at it. As Sam and Amelia pulled out their computers and books, Dean armed himself, shoved extra ammo into his pockets, just in case—although, if he needed more than the magazine in his handgun and the shells in the shotgun, he'd probably be dead—and then headed out to the Impala, shrugging into his light canvas jacket; he would have welcomed the comfort his father's old leather jacket brought, but it was far too hot in the late summer/early fall heat.

He had obtained a list of crime scenes from Amelia, and the first one of the list wasn't very far from the motel. Dean piloted the Impala down a narrow side street to the empty lot between two rather shabby-looking houses. It was a long, narrow stretch of grassy land that sloped down in the middle, as if someone had dug a hole for a foundation but never finished and it had just been left to go back to nature. Dean parked the car and climbed carefully down into the depression, one hand on his gun and his eyes peeled for anything of interest even though he knew most of the out-of-place things would have been taken as evidence.

When it came to the supernatural, however, there were things that couldn't be removed.

The body was gone, but there was a large, dark stain on the ground where it would have laid and the grass and weeds were flattened. Dean crouched beside the scene of attack and death, his eyes taking in the splatter on the walls of the depression and the disturbed earth that had been stirred up, likely, by the claws of the attacking werewolf—yes, there was a paw print in the dirt. Even though he had never seen a werewolf actually in the form of a wolf, Sam was right: he didn't know everything about the creatures and, if the plethora of new information that Asher have given them was correct, they knew next to nothing. Werewolves could very well transform into a wolf for all he knew.

Everything Dean could see at the scene did point to werewolves, but there was something else about the scene that pointed particularly to Asher; he tried to ignore it, but knew it was a fruitless attempt as it become more potent the longer he remained. After being so close to Asher for as long as he had, he knew what Asher's otherworldly energy felt like—he didn't know why was sensitive to it, or if anyone else was since he hadn't asked, or if he could sense any other wolf's but he could feel it—and it was all over the place.

"Ash," he breathed to the air around him, almost expecting an answer. "What did you do?"

Even as he pictured her in his mind, his imagination filled in the details. Dean could see Asher attacking whoever was loitering in the depression—probably a kid smoking or drinking—leaping off the top of the basin and tackling them to the ground; he had seen Asher on the brink of transformation before, so he knew her blue eyes would lighten until they were almost white and that the bone structure of her face and hands would subtly change. It was the only state aside from human Dean had seen her in, so that was the one he pictured tearing into the body, face covered with blood as she ripped the heart out of the chest and ran off.

As he was focusing on the horror that might have been committed by someone he cared deeply about, part of his mind rose up and screamed that it was impossible. Asher wouldn't have killed anyone. He clung to that.

_She would have if she wasn't in control. _

But what if someone else was with her? What if someone else had actually done the killing and Asher had just watched? What if someone had _forced _Asher to kill? She couldn't kill an innocent. She wouldn't.

_Yeah right. She's a werewolf, Dean. She's not human and she doesn't function under the same ideas of right and wrong, under the same morals. _

No, that wasn't true, not of Asher. She took great pains to keep her human side in control and Dean wasn't ready to believe the worst of Asher without hearing her side of things, without making sure she was safe again. He didn't want to have to put a silver bullet through Asher's heart. And like he'd told Sam, it would be him. Amelia would never be able to do it, and now she had actually passed the duty to Dean—he had agreed. The very thought made Dean's stomach lurch, and there wasn't much that did that anymore.

"I don't want to kill you, Ash..."

* * *

**Author's Note.**

So, a little bit of a morbid ending, but this is a generally morbid book. Probably the most morbid yet, but not the most morbid to come. For the record, I love that word.

Anyways, enjoy!

**Next Chapter: Holy Furball, Batman!.**


	3. Chapter Three: Holy Furball, Batman!

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book Three: Werewolves.  
**Chapter Three: Holy Furball, Batman!

* * *

When consciousness returned, the first thing Asher realized was that she was at the bottom of some pile of warm squishy things that soon revealed themselves to be bodies and that she was very uncomfortable. She was lying on her side, her legs draped over someone's chest and her head pillowed in the crook of someone's neck while the rest of her was pressed against the worn wood of the floor; her hand could touch the edge of a blanket, but someone had obviously rolled themselves in it, stealing all the comfort it could possibly offer. There were bodies pressed close to either side of her, a hand on her back, and what felt like a face pressed into her thigh.

Panic started to course through her, her wolf rising with it. She couldn't remember why she was there, how she had gotten there, or where she was. She couldn't understand why Amelia wasn't around and why she was surrounded by unfamiliar smells. Because she didn't want to change in the middle of the pile of people, Asher closed her eyes again and took several long, deep breaths to calm herself down. She thought of Sam and Amelia and Dean, thought of hunting and of driving and of going home to Austin's house.

When the wolf began to recede and she could breathe without the danger of hyperventilating, she began to manoeuvre out of the living cave; she was starting to feel claustrophobic. As she wiggled out of the pile, Asher realized all the people stunk of werewolf. She'd never seen so many of her brethren in the same place at the same time.

Suddenly a little lightheaded, she dropped to a crouch and rolled back to sit on her heels, back pressed against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees and eyes glued to the pile of bodies in front of her; the fact that she was naked didn't do anything to help to keep her calm. Her limbs didn't function quite properly either, something that happened when she spent any length of time in her wolf form. She fought to remain conscious and upright as she tried to piece her memory back together.

The last thing she could vividly remember was Amelia bringing the silver chains into the motel room from the truck, preparing to chain her to the bed so she wouldn't escape and kill anyone. She remembered have a mental argument with her wolf, convincing her that she had to remain inside. Everything after that consisted only of flashes, noises and colours and she couldn't force her memory to bring anything else to the forefront. _Memory losses happen when you spend time as a wolf too, _she told herself. _Use your nose and see if any of the wolf's memories are jogged. _Asher agreed with herself, so she closed her eyes, called up the wolfish senses that would enhance her own and sucked in a deep breath through her nose, letting the myriad of scents run through the catalogue in her mind.

Beneath the scent of the various wolves—twelve others in total, all with their own distinct scents overlying the smell of wolf and nature—her nose picked up corn nearly ready for harvest, oiled metal, wet grass, horses and cattle and hay. She opened her eyes—the deep blue having lightened to nearly white—and growled slightly, the noise rumbling in her throat. The wolf was rising to the surface. Some of the flashes had evolved into more comprehensible visions, bolstered by the unique scents of all the wolves, and Asher did not like what she saw, what she remembered.

Attacking Amelia, lapping blood from a freshly killed man, tearing meat from white bones, rolling in the blood, relishing in the freedom she finally had; running with the pack, fighting for food, tearing a chunk out of another wolf's neck, fighting for a higher place in the group—blood and meat sliding down her throat...

Asher barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up.

Not because she was repulsed by what she had done, but because she liked the remembered taste of blood and meat.

When she was able to stand up again, her throat burned and her eyes were still watering, but they had returned to their normal deep blue and the wolf had slid back into the dark place where she lived twenty-seven days out of the month.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror and saw that she was covered in dried blood; her tan skin was tight with it and her black hair matted in thick clumps and sticking up in every direction around her head. Her skin was also decorated with deep purple bruises that she knew would soon fade, but the sight of herself beat up made her uneasy. She smelled of wolf, of outdoors and of blood. Her stomach flipped again, but there was nothing else to expel. Unwilling to heave dryly and put herself through more pain, Asher dropped onto the white tiles of the bathroom floor and put her head in her hands, wishing with all she could that Dean was there because he would know what to do and he, probably more than anyone else, would have some idea of what the hell was going on. She wanted Dean there because he would make her feel better, make her feel safe, even from herself. Against her will, tears started streaming down her face, cutting paths in the brownish blood on her cheeks.

"You didn't seem so upset yesterday," a deep, rough voice said from her left.

His voice reached her ears and his scent reached her nose and suddenly, she knew who the man was. He was the Alpha, the wolf in control of the others, the one who had called her away from Amelia, the one who had forced her to change. He had gathered this pack together, made them run, made them kill. He was forcing them all to embrace their animal sides, turning them away from their humanity. With his scent, the memory of a big, grey wolf revelling in the kill, raising his mouth and howling, a cry joined by the others.

Asher knew she was out of place with this group, a group of people who enjoyed hunting and killing anyone and anything. Asher hunted and killed, but only the supernatural beings that threatened the innocents; she was not a murder.

Knowing full well that she was much weaker than the Alpha—she wasn't anywhere near an Alpha level of strength and she didn't spend enough time as a wolf to have the control that he did—and that she was completely vulnerable and unarmed, Asher still lunged towards him, hands braced like claws, ready to dig into the soft skin beneath his clothes and tear him apart.

She got within a foot of him and then she couldn't move.

"Uh uh, my little wolf. I can control you, remember?" he sneered; Asher wasn't sure if he was talking to her or her wolf. His scarred face split into a savage grin, revealing slightly pointed yellow teeth. Clearly he spent a lot of time transformed. "You wouldn't be in this situation if you spent more time as a wolf. She is an angry beast and you should really let her out more. I don't have control over strong wolves. Just pups." The black eyes set far back in his face lightened to yellow as they slid down her immobile body, taking in her silver-induced scars with nearly clinical interest and leering at everything else. "Chaining yourself up won't keep her quiet forever, little one. The longer you keep her contained, the bigger the rift becomes between you. She's going to rip your sweet ass apart."

Asher growled loudly and pressed against the invisible barrier. "I'm a hunter, you freak!" she barked.

The Alpha's thick eyebrows rose and then he threw back his head and laughed. "A hunter _and _a werewolf? How did you manage that?"

His amusement seemed to distract him and he dropped whatever control he had on Asher. She stumbled forward a step, but took the opportunity for what it was—she ran. It took only a split second for the Alpha and his wolves to realize she was moving—and there were a few other wolves awake now, a snarling mass of supernaturally enhanced flesh—and to start chasing her.

Asher pushed herself as fast as she could through the halls, her bare feet eating up the distance to the front of the house, the door and escape. Not wanting to take the time to fumble with the doorknob, she raised her arms, preparing to leap through the glass of the window, but something solid hit her, taking her to the floor, her head bouncing hard on the wood planks and bright stars dancing across her vision. Before she had time to recover however, the Alpha's rough face appeared in her vision, that savage grin on his face. He seized her around the waist and tossed her over one shoulder in a fireman's carry, one of his big, calloused hands freely groping her ass, even as she struggled.

"You aren't going anywhere, little wolf."

Asher then did something very un-Asherlike and resigned. She draped herself over the wide shoulder of the Alpha and let him grab her ass while she concentrated on finding a way out of this mess.

The Alpha carried her up a rather rickety set of stairs and down a narrow hall. At the end of the hall, they entered what appeared to be, from the backwards view Asher had of it, a very large bedroom; her insides squirmed as she thought of all the reasons he might have dragged her to a private bedroom for. Unlike the rest of the house, there were no wolves here. Alpha tossed her none-too-ceremoniously onto the bed and sat down on the end of it, but he didn't stop her from scrambling backwards to huddle against the pillows at the headboard.

She didn't like retreating from the Alpha, but without her weapons and without any real familiarity with her wolf, she would stand no chance in a fight—he would crush her. But that didn't mean she wouldn't fight if he tried to rape her. Or beat her. Asher would rather die than let someone get that control over her.

"You will have to complete your transformation sometime," Alpha growled.

"I don't want to."

"Then why are you still alive?" The tone of Alpha's voice had changed from someone in charge, controlling and demanding, to someone curious and seeking answers. Clearly he felt comfortable pursing his curiosity when he felt there was no way Asher could get away.

Asher, feeling the immediate danger may have been lessened for the moment, settled into the pillows, pulling one into her lap; there was a brownish dust powdering the sheets around her as the blood flaked from her skin, but she tried not to give them too much thought. The Alpha knew she was bloody. He wouldn't have dropped her on his white sheets if he cared that much. _Why would a werewolf have white sheets?_ she wondered idly. "I don't want to die," she answered simply. "I found a way to keep from changing so I can continue to hunt monsters." _Like you, _she added in her head. She was surprised at her own restraint. If she had been talking to Dean, nothing would have been held back. Then again, she could take Dean in a fight and she wasn't worried about him hurting her.

"But why hasn't your wolf torn you apart?"

"I won't let her."

"How have you not been hunted yourself?"

"I have been. And I will be again." She bared her teeth at the Alpha when he turned to look at her, the gesture of aggression rapidly turning into a devious grin. Her restraint did have a limit, after all. "My sister will already be looking for me and, if she's half the hunter I know she is, she'll have called the Winchesters."

The name had the effect Asher had hoped for: the Alpha reared off the bed, growling. However, it also had an effect she did not anticipate: he leapt forward and slapped her hard across the face. He then grabbed her around the throat and hoisted her into the air, face darkening to purple in a matter of seconds. Alpha glared at her with yellow eyes and then tossed her on the floor with enough force to send her skidding across the floorboards to smash into the wall even as she choked down gulps of fresh air. The drywall opened up around her and Asher found herself slightly dazed and half in what she assumed would have been used as a storage space if there was a door—_well, there's one now._

Thinking pretty fast for someone just having been chucked through a wall, Asher wedged herself into the space and tried to ignore the cobwebs sticking to her skin. She hated cobwebs.

"Get out here, you little bitch!" Alpha snarled. "Tell me where the Winchesters are!"

"I don't know," she snapped. "But they'll come for me."

There was a bass grumble and he smashed his fist into the wall above Asher's head. "It's been three days! Why haven't they come for you yet? They're not coming for you!"

_Don't listen. Dean will come for you. _Asher withheld the whimper she wanted to voice and pressed herself farther into the hole. _Dean and Amelia and Sam will come and get you, but you still have to fight. _She kept her eyes opened and tried to find a way to fight back, even as Alpha began to pursue her.

His big hands tore drywall from the edges of the hole, making it larger and although Asher doubted he could ever make it big enough to admit his bulk, he could make it big enough to drag her out. Doing her best to keep her panic at bay, Asher pressed herself as far away from the hole as she could get, but it wasn't very far. She hadn't come up with anything to fight back with yet. She had no ideas. Alpha managed to get his head and one shoulder into the hole and reached forward to grab Asher's ankle. She growled and kicked at his hand, but his claw-like fingernails dug into her skin and pulled her towards him, her skin picking up splinters and probably several new bruises.

When she was free of the wall, the Alpha pulled her roughly off her feet, her toes dangling a few inches above the floor and her arms bruising where he held her. She growled and tried to struggle, but found that, except for her legs, she couldn't, and when she tried to kick him in the nuts, he tossed her clear across the room, into the wall above the bed. Her head landed against the metal headboard in a blow that would have knocked someone without supernatural blood unconscious. As it was, her head lolled and a pool of blood spread across the white comforter beneath her, but the Alpha werewolf wasn't done with her yet.

* * *

Downstairs, the werewolves were getting into the swing of their daily, or rather, nightly routines, completely ignoring the fact that there was a new wolf in the midst, knowing the Alpha still had to break her. There were verbal fights going on over the meagre supply of food in the house, physical fights for fun and practice in the yard, and a patrol of three wolves in their animal forms roaming the perimeter of their Alpha's farm, making sure no errant humans or inquiring hunters were in danger of getting too close. There were loud discussions of who would hunt and where, cries for fresh meat, cries for human meat and bids for mating rights with the few females living on the farm. There was so much noise that the screams from upstairs went unnoticed, and even if they had been heard, no one would have paid them any mind.

In a den of werewolves, a few blood-curdling screams were normal.

They had all been broken at one point or another. The blood-curdling screams would stop when the new one submitted and let her wolf take over. All the farm's wolves enjoyed being animalistic. Everyone did eventually.

Even when Alpha came down the stairs a while later, bleeding from several wounds and sporting a brilliant bruise along the right side of his face and jaw and favouring his left leg, no one paid any attention to the wounds, only giving pause in their activities to expose their necks to their leader as he passed, declaring their submission to the big wolf.

* * *

**Author's Note.**

So this chapter is very unhappy. I'm not telling you exactly what happened with Asher at the break there. I'll let your imagination run wild. I really like this book so far, so I hope I can keep it going.

I hope you enjoy it too.

**Next Chapter: Tracking.**


	4. Chapter Four: Tracking

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book Three: Werewolves.  
**Chapter Four: Tracking.

* * *

The scene near the depression yielded no more information for Dean, and it wasn't that he didn't look. The older Winchester had spent the rest of the day searching the immediate area and the small town, but he had come up with nothing—the trail he'd been able to follow had disappeared all of six feet from the rim of the depression. Frustrated and angry, Dean had gone back to the motel room where Sam and Amelia were on the phone and internet respectfully, contacting every hunter they could and looking for any information or lore on werewolf packs. Dean hadn't even bothered to ask what they'd come up with. He'd just ordered pizza, had a shower and then dug into said food when it arrived, his thoughts so focused on Asher and what she might be going through or what she might be like now... He remained completely silent, the uncharacteristic state earning him several bizarre looks from Sam and Amelia.

Around midnight, when Sam and Amelia had fallen asleep, Dean climbed out of bed, dressed, and left the motel, intent on driving around and listening for active werewolves. As the Impala pulled out of the parking lot, Amelia and Sam were awoken by the rumbling of the engine, but knowing there was no way to stop Dean or change his mind, they contented themselves with trying to go back to sleep. They would help when they could and right then, Dean needed to get the mad chase out of his system before he could think more clearly.

A ways outside Beaver Falls, Dean pulled the Impala over to the side of the road, killed the engine, and climbed out. The night was calm and quiet and clear; the moon, just this side of full, hung bright above him, surrounded by the bright points of stars. If he hadn't been so distracted, he might have stopped to admire the beauty of the sky above him. As it was, Dean walked into the field he'd stopped beside until he couldn't hear anything except the few insects left in the early autumn. Then he stood as still as he could and listened. And he didn't have to listen for very long.

A ragged scream cut through the air and Dean turned to face it just as the pained noise turned into a long and mournful howl.

He knew it was Asher.

Dean took several steps in the general direction the scream had originated from before he realized there was nothing he could do by himself. He stopped and stood in the furrows of the already-harvested field and stared ahead as other howls joined Asher's, none of them sounding as pained or as sad... they all sounded happy and joyous. There were no lights to indicate the house, but because of the moonlight, the hunter was able to make out the dark shape of the building standing in the middle of nowhere with nothing else around it, not even a shed or barn. Dean made a mental note about the location, and then, reluctantly returned to his car, wishing there was more he could do to help Asher that night; he realized as he marked the gravel of the shoulder so he could find the same spot in the daylight, that he hadn't really expected to find any leads to Asher's whereabouts that night. He hadn't expected to find her yet.

As he climbed behind the wheel and turned the Impala back towards Beaver Falls, he cursed himself. He should have come prepared. He should have woken Sam and Amelia.

Funnily enough, the other two hunters said much the same thing the next morning.

"What were you thinking Dean?" Sam asked.

"What if you'd been attacked!" Amelia interjected.

Dean, who was seated on Asher's bed with the other hunters standing in front of him, just shrugged. "I wasn't thinking, okay? But I heard her. She's still alive," he said with a pointed look at Amelia.

The statement had the effect he had hoped it would. Amelia gaped and her anger faltered, but Sam wasn't going to let his brother get himself off the hook that easily. Sam shot an apologetic look at Amelia and then glared at Dean. "How can you be sure it was her you heard?"

"I just know it." Dean sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. He didn't know how to explain how he knew it was Asher, just as he wasn't sure how he'd been able to identify Asher at the scene in the depression.

"I believe you, Dean."

He looked up at Amelia and they had one of those moments of understanding, where they knew what each other had experienced with regards to Asher; Sam didn't have the same connection to the werewolf as the other two did, he wasn't as close to her. "Thanks Amelia," Dean said. He wanted to add that her support didn't really help, that they didn't know the situation surrounding Asher, and that he wasn't even sure if they would be able to save her when they found her. But that would require Dean to explain what he had found at the depression, and he didn't really want to bring that into light yet. Maybe he wouldn't have to. "We should head back out to that house and see what we can see," he said, standing up and forcing Sam and Amelia to take a few steps back.

"You and Amelia can go. I'm going to go and talk to a few people in town and see if they saw who or what was responsible for the attacks." Sam sighed and ran the fingers of one hand back through his hair. "If it is the wolves who are attacking people, we should be out of the woods for now."

Dean and Amelia nodded and then the group of hunters fell into silence as they moved around the room, preparing for the day ahead. Sam changed into his black suit and fished around in the box for his FBI ID; recently, it had been remade with help from Amelia. Dean and Amelia armed themselves with two guns each, one with regular ammunition and one with silver bullets. Dean also brought Asher's shotgun, loaded with buckshot. If they did rescue her, she wouldn't want to be without a weapon. Amelia also thought to through a change of clothes into a bag. She knew Asher and her transformations better than anyone and she assured Dean that if she had in fact changed even once, she would need clothes. While this concept greatly interested Dean, he didn't say anything about it. It was about nine in the morning when the hunters were ready. Sam took the Impala to drive around town and Amelia and Dean climbed into Asher's massive truck, the engine roaring rather loudly in the morning air. Amelia let Dean drive because she was still rather flustered by her sister's absence and possible danger and didn't think she'd be able to drive very well.

The day was mild but overcast, conditions favourable for daylight hunting. The drive out of Beaver Falls and into the countryside was done in silence, but Dean was able to find the spot where he'd parked without much difficulty. He parked the truck on the side of the road and he and Amelia, armed for bear—or wolf as it were—strode into the empty field, the house that was their target clearly visible a short distance away.

"You think that's where she is?" Amelia asked, her voice guarded.

Dean nodded. "That's the only building around here, and I know that's the direction I heard the howl from. I suppose I could be wrong, but we should definitely check it out."

"It's better than what I had before you got here." Amelia sighed and looked at Dean. A stray breeze blew her pale hair around her head and nearly tugged the cowboy hat from her head, but she clamped it back down. "Thank you Dean."

"For what?"

She shrugged. "For not being afraid to show that you care about her, I guess."

"Oh. Yeah, well... you're welcome, I guess."

* * *

Sam didn't like to admit that he was afraid, but the big man he was supposed to interview next scared him. He was tall and bulky—all muscle, no fat—and there was something inherently... _wolfish _about him. Something about his pale eyes and the way his greying brown hair surrounded his square face. Currently, he was sitting in a booth in a bar, having agreed to meet with the "FBI" only if he could have a drink while he did so. Sam had agreed, getting the gut feeling that told him this man would have some information. Whether it would be of any use remained to be seen.

The younger Winchester walked into the bar, the lone establishment of its kind in Beaver Falls. "Are you Richard Green?" Sam asked as he approached the man.

He nodded and cleared his throat with a rough growl. "I am. You the fed?" Sam nodded and sat down in the booth across from the man. "So what does a fed want with a bunch of animal attacks?" he asked, draining whatever the drink was in his hands.

Sam was a little put off by the man drinking this early in the day—although, he supposed, it was getting closer to lunch time. Sure enough, as he waited for the answer, Richard waved over a very haggard-looking waitress and ordered a sandwich and basket of fries. Realizing he was a little hungry, Sam ordered a sandwich as well. "We don't believe they are animal attacks," Sam answered once the two men were alone again. "We've connected the murders here to a string of murders and attacks in the area." It was the common answer he and Dean always fell back on it.

Problem was Richard Green didn't seem to be buying into it as readily as most did.

"Is that so?" he asked, one corner of his mouth pulled into a sneer.

Sam nodded, playing into the FBI charade. He had no other options—telling the truth was always the very last resort and never used except in the most extreme of cases. "I know how unbelievable it sounds, Mr. Green. I'm just interested to know if you saw anything when the attacked happened by your house."

The sandwiches came then and Richard paused to prepare the sandwich and fries the way he liked them. When he was satisfied and had taken several bites, he answered the question. "Nope. I wasn't home that night. I was out hunting."

Richard Green didn't seem overly worried about the murders in Beaver Falls and that made Sam suspicious. But what could he do about it? Nothing without drawing suspicion onto himself. He sighed and dug into his sandwich as he tried to think of what to say next. Were there anymore questions he could ask? "Do you know anyone who saw anything? Anyone that would be willing to talk about it?" he asked. Last-ditch effort.

Mr. Green shook his hairy head, something in his wolfish eyes gleaming. "Nope."

The expression gave Sam the sense that the man was hiding something, but how to get it out of him? Sam leaned across the table slightly and narrowed his eyes. "You're not telling me something, Mr. Green. What are you hiding? Who are you protecting?"

"I ain't protecting no one."

"But you are hiding something."

"Everyone is hiding something," Richard replied, his lips stretching back across his yellowish teeth in a sinister grin. "But I'm not telling you my secrets, boy."

Sam huffed, realizing his wasn't going to get anything out of this man after all. "Fine, Mr. Green." He got up from the table and dropped a couple bills on the table, just enough to cover the bill and tip; he didn't really think the waitress would get the tip. Without waiting for the wolfish man to say anything else, Sam turned and walked back out of the bar, hoping that Amelia and Dean had found something useful. He would have to keep an eye on Mr. Green though... Sam settled into the Impala and drove around the block, parking somewhere where he could see the bar from, but he wouldn't be immediately obvious to anyone exiting the building.

* * *

The house turned out to be farther away than Dean had judged, and the sun was past its midway point by the time they reached the shabby building. It was a two-storey farmhouse, not unlike the one the group of hunters had encountered when dealing with a massive nest of vampires, except this one was in slightly better shape. The whitewashed siding was peeling, and there were a few cracked windows, but the door was firmly locked and the house seemed quite stable; the grass had even been cut at some point in the last month, but it couldn't hide the trampled look, the paths cut clear through the lawn to the nearby woods. There were no cars anywhere, but when you could run on four legs, why have a car?

"This looks like the place," Dean said with grim satisfaction as he ran his fingertips along cuts in the wood of the porch. "Definitely animals around here."

Amelia was standing a little ways away with her eyes closed, one hand on her gun. "She's here."

Dean nodded and walked away from the house, grabbing Amelia's arm as he moved. When she gave him what-the-hell-are-you-doing look, he said, "We can't just barge in. We don't know what or who else is in there and we don't know what state of mind Asher is in. She could be... all wolf."

"She's not."

"I don't want to think so either, Amelia, but she could—"

"She's _not_."

Dean sighed and nodded. "Okay, but we still can't just run in there." He manoeuvred his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial commands for Sam's phone. "Sam, where are you?"

_"I'm following the last man I interviewed. He's driving out in your direction."_

"Do you think he's connected to Asher somehow?"

_"I don't know, but I don't think it would be a huge leap. If you two are at the house, stay hidden. In fact, leave. He'll probably smell you, if he is a werewolf."_

"Good idea. Let me know what happens. We'll go back to the truck."

"What?" Amelia snapped. "We can't leave!"

Dean hung up the phone and returned it to his pocket before shooting Amelia a glare. "We can't hang around. Sam's following a guy back this way and thinks he might be a werewolf. If he is, he'll find us and likely kill us. So let's go back to the truck, okay?"

Amelia sighed heavily and nodded, pushing to her feet and starting a slow jog back across the field. Dean followed suit, looking over his shoulder every once in a while to make sure they weren't being followed; once, he could have sworn he saw a face in one of the windows of the house, but by that point they were fairly far away and he couldn't be sure. They reached the truck and climbed back into the cab, Amelia immediately reaching under the passenger's seat to retrieve a pair of binoculars, which she used to peer back towards the house.

"I see an SUV and the Impala a ways behind it," she said after a couple minutes.

"He'd better not wreck my car," Dean muttered, earning himself a nasty look from his younger companion.

Amelia turned back to the scene across the field, binoculars pressed against her eyes. She pulled off her hat so she could more easily use the tool. "The man's gone into the house."

Dean's phone rang at that moment. "Sam?"

_"Yeah. Did he just walk into the house you were checking out?"_

"Yup."

_"So he's our guy?"_

"One of them, anyway."

_"Are we going to head back to the motel to figure out a plan?" _

"That's probably a good idea. See you."

Dean once again returned his phone to his pocket. Ignoring the dissatisfied look on Amelia's face, and the knot of guilt in his gut at leaving Asher behind, Dean started the truck and made the journey back to their motel in Beaver Falls. Again, they rode in silence, this time filled with anger instead of apprehension, and when they were in the relative privacy of their motel room, Amelia unleashed that anger.

"Why didn't we stay? Why didn't we go in there? They're just human!" she barked, throwing her things on her bed and stomping across the room to stare out the window. "She could be being tortured. She could be in pain! We can't leave her out there any longer!"

Sam, who had been at the motel when Dean and Amelia had arrived, walked over to Amelia and started speaking to her in hushed tones, trying to calm her down. But it didn't really matter, because Dean already felt terribly guilty and Amelia was right. They couldn't leave Asher out there anymore. The wolves shouldn't be able to change without the full moon, but if this was a pack, it was something they had never encountered before, and Asher had shown the Winchesters that they far from knew everything about werewolves; it wasn't a huge leap to think these wolves might be able to change without the moon. Dean dropped onto Asher's bed and put his head in his hands.

"What the hell do you want me to do, Sam?" Amelia snapped. "Pretend that my sister might not be injured or dead or a fucking animal?"

"I didn't say that—"

"I don't care what you said. I'm going after her. I'm sick of pussyfooting around these wolves." Amelia marched towards the door, slipping her guns and knives into place as she moved.

Dean followed her silently, arming as he walked as well. The gun and clothes for Asher were still in the truck, but Amelia added the silver chains to the load as well, just in case. After a moment, Sam sighed and joined them, the trio climbing into the truck without anymore words to each other. They didn't have a plan; they were just going to get Asher out of there.

* * *

**Author's Note.**

Another chapter done! Yay!

So, going by the current plans, there are 20 fics for Supernatural: 10 books and 10 one-shots. I have no idea if I'll ever get all those done, but I can hope. There's some really great stuff in there that I want to write. So we'll see.

Enjoy.

**Next Chapter: Bestiality.**


	5. Chapter Five: Bestiality

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book Three: Werewolves.  
**Chapter Five: Bestiality.

* * *

Asher paused with the hunk of meat halfway to her mouth; she could have sworn she heard Dean and Amelia. But that was impossible. As she rose to her feet, she tossed the meat into the feeding hoard and headed for the front door, not even blinking as she stepped, naked, out onto the porch. The door banged shut behind her, and she knew that someone would come to investigate the noise, if not the Alpha himself; he had kept a near-constant eye on Asher since she had attempted to run. Asher turned her bright blue eyes away from the house, scanning the land around her, looking for any sign of her sister and Dean, any sign that they had actually been there at all and that she wasn't going crazy.

There was none.

She dropped into a crouch, wrapped her arms around her knees, and sighed, pressing her face into her thighs as she did so. Of course they hadn't been there. How could they have found her? _Why _would they come and find her? Unless they were going to kill her. She had attacked Amelia, and the Winchesters had always made it clear that if she should exhibit any of the attributes of her animal side, that they would hunt her. Would Dean actually shoot her? Could he? She would have like to have said no, but she couldn't. Dean was a hunter, a damn good one, and he wouldn't let Asher run around if she was likely to kill people. Asher sighed again and lifted her eyes to look at the open fields in front of her. Even if by some chance Dean, Sam and Amelia had found her and they had come to save her, there were only three of them and a house full of werewolves, and she didn't think they would be stupid enough to try and take her from that.

"You're not thinkin' about running are ya girl?"

Something in Asher's gut tightened and she felt like she was going to throw up; the Alpha's smell washed over her and memories flooded her mind. She didn't want him anywhere near her. "No," she mumbled. "I just didn't want to be in there while everyone else is feeding. The smell of raw meat is making me sick."

Alpha gave a barking laugh. "Suit yourself. We're running in about a half hour. If you get hungry, don't expect anyone to help you kill."

"I won't." Asher snarled into her leg as the Alpha went back inside the house. As the door banged shut again, Asher seriously considered making a run for it—just bolting as fast as she could across the fields. She couldn't change, because the wolf would be drawn back to the house, to her own kind, but Asher could still run and she could still run fast. Almost as quickly as the thought entered her head however, she dismissed it. Alpha was faster. He would be able to stop her, and he would. He'd probably kill her, and Asher did not want to die. "I won't," she repeated at a whisper, just for herself.

A few minutes later, the other werewolves started filing out of the house and arranging themselves on the lawn. Most of them cast angry glares towards Asher and the rest ignored her. She was the newbie and she didn't like to change. She didn't like to use her wolf to kill. She was green when it came to being a werewolf, and though she had more experience and was better at using her werewolf skills in human form, none of them cared about that. The werewolves under Alpha were predators in the most basic sense of the word. They killed indiscriminately and they enjoyed it. Asher didn't fit in and they all knew it. She knew it to and she was glad of it.

Asher remained on the weathered boards of the porch and watched the men and women—mostly men since, as Alpha had explained, women didn't take to the change as well—begin to change. Some stretched, some lay down in the grass, but all of them began to shift in unnatural ways. Due to a diet of mostly protein, a high metabolism and a constant need to run, the werewolves were all in shape, but even being as fit as possible wouldn't have helped with the shift. Skin rippled as muscles and bones reformed beneath it and hair began to appear in waves. Pained moans and whimpers and the sound of breaking bones filled the air and when the first howl broke, Asher couldn't resist it anymore. The change took over, her wolf eager to come to the surface.

Her spine bowed outward and she cried out as her other bones moved and snapped and as her body reformed into the shape of the wolf. She felt her body heat up, her skin almost melting to reveal the black wolf beneath. It felt as if every nerve in her body had exploded—she was in unbelievable pain. How could the others enjoy this? Did the pain fade with time? Or did they all just like it? Asher's cries of pain finally broke into a howl and she felt her human mind slipping away, giving away to the control of the wolf; there _had _to be a way to transform and keep her mind at the forefront, keep the human in control. No harm in trying.

_Let me run, let me run, let me run, _the wolf said.

_We'll run; just let me stay here, _Asher pleaded.

The wolf pushed. _No, no, no. I must run. You have kept me inside too long. Run._

_We'll run. I promise. Just let me stay here. I don't want to go where it's dark. _The words were odd, but true. When the wolf was in control, Asher went to a place that was dark and where she had no control. She could see and hear and smell everything the wolf did, but she had no input on what was happening. It was terrible frustrating.

_Run, run, run._

_We'll run! _Asher yelled. Finally, there was silence and, unlike the first time she'd been forced to transform under the Alpha's control, there was no more resistance. The wolf seemed okay with letting Asher stay in control as long as her needs were fulfilled. _We'll run, _Asher promised again. _We'll run._

_Run._

Asher mentally sighed and went down the stairs to join the rest of the haphazardly-assembled pack on the lawn. She dropped to her belly, following some silent signal from the wolf. Alpha came out of the house and stood on the porch above them, the rest of the wolves dropping to their bellies to show submission to the most powerful wolf. As they all watched, Alpha changed into the massive tawny wolf he was in a smooth motion with no noise of pain whatsoever. He lorded over the pack for a moment, what passed for a grin on his face—it meant a lot of bared teeth and a sinister glint to the eye—and then he joined the rest of the wolves on the lawn and started walking towards the trees.

The rest of the wolves took a few steps in the same direction and then they all broke out into a run. Asher had to admit that running on four legs gave a sort of freedom she'd never felt before—the wolf howled in agreement in her head and Asher felt herself smile. Maybe the pain of the change was worth it, just for this, just for running.

The pack ate the distance between the house and the road in mere moments, but as the sign of humanity came into view, they slowed and paced beside the road to wait for the slower wolves to catch up before they bolted across to the safety of the trees and the miles of open fields beyond. Asher dropped into the ditch beside the road to avoid being seen—she could hear an engine on the horizon. The others climbed into the ditch as well, except for Alpha, who remained with his head in a position visible to see the road. It went without saying that they would cross in order of power.

A transport truck zoomed by and Asher saw Alpha bound across the road, in the shadows on the other side. Wolves followed one by one, and only a few more vehicles passed by. When there were about seven wolves left, Asher heard another loud engine, a familiar one. She belly-crawled up to the edge of the ditch and looked down towards oncoming traffic; the other wolves continued to cross the road and when she was the last one, the wolf began to pull again.

_Run, run, run. We're away from the pack. _

_Just hold on._

The wolf pulled harder and Asher felt her control slipping away. She rose from her crouch, just as the headlights of the vehicle came into view, accompanied by a flurry of smells. Asher slipped farther into the dark place—she wasn't strong enough to keep control from her wolf—but she was able to pick out the smells of motor oil, gun oil, and Dean. She didn't know why he stuck out above everyone else, but he did, and she knew it was her truck. As the smell of Dean resolved itself in her head, she picked up Sam and Amelia as well and the wolf stopped pulling. She didn't give Asher back any of control, but she stopped pulling.

The truck came to a stop a little ways down the road and the three hunters inside came out, Sam and Dean armed with pistols and shoguns and Amelia carrying the heavy silver chains in loops across her body. Asher tried to call out to them, but stopped herself when she saw the rest of the pack milling by the road on the other side of the street, their eyes just visible in the twilight between the trees. The wolf began to pull again, trying to get Asher to move across the street towards the rest of the pack, but she didn't want to go. Asher tried to move towards the hunters.

"Is that Asher?" Dean asked, head slightly turned towards Amelia.

She nodded, her eyes beginning to shimmer with tears. "Yeah..."

_Amelia! _The cry came out as a bark.

"Dean." Sam was pointing to the rest of the wolves across the road.

No sooner had Sam made the identification then did the pack attack. Alpha, however, made his way towards Asher, his lips pulled back over his teeth and his eyes dark with rage. _You brought them here, _he said, his voice echoing through her head.

The wolf submitted control once again, wanting no part of Alpha's anger. _No. They found me. They came for me._

_We will not let them take you. You don't belong with them. _

Asher growled and lunged at Alpha, teeth bared and ready to strike. She slammed against him and managed to knock him back a few steps. She tried to wrap her jaws around his neck, but he swung his massive head around and struck her on the shoulder hard enough to knock her over. He sunk his teeth into her neck while she was still lying on the ground, but he did not remain there long; Amelia had managed to break away from the other wolves and she swung the silver chains expertly, bringing them down on the Alpha's back. He howled in pain and pulled away, thick burn marks marring his tawny fur. Asher rolled away and ran towards the truck, hoping to get there before the smells of blood on the air brought the wolf into control again.

She was level with Dean when exactly that happened. The wolf burst to the forefront, the force of the mental change bringing Asher to her stomach in the gravel. Dean whirled around, shotgun aimed, but stopped himself from shooting just in time. The wolf growled and lunged, knocking Dean off his feet. She bit down hard on Dean's arm, blood rushing down ehr throat. "Amelia!" he called. "Get those chains over here!"

Amelia, who was swinging the chains in a wide arc to try and drive the wolves back, pulled herself away and ran towards Dean's panicked voice and, without hesitation, brought the chains down on Asher's back and then moved forward to loop the chains around her sister's animal form. As Asher weakened and fell to the ground again, Amelia apologized, just as the wolf gave control to Asher once more. Asher tried to change back, but she couldn't—whether that was because of the silver chains or exhaustion, she couldn't be sure. Amelia managed to get Asher into the backseat of the truck and Sam and Dean walked backwards so they could climb into the shelter of the cab as well; the wolves pushed all the way.

When the doors both slammed shut, Sam, who had ended up behind the wheel, started the truck and dropped his foot to the floor, the massive vehicle leaping forward and, Asher hoped, hitting a few of the beasts. Sam executed a hurried u-turn and sped back towards Beaver Falls, faster than the wolves could run.

Asher made the journey with her head in Amelia's lap, her sister idly stroking the fur by her ear and apologizing quietly for attacking her with the chains. The scents of mixed blood threatened to bring the wolf back to control, but Asher used every bit of remaining strength to keep that from happening, to keep anyone else from getting hurt; she wished she could apologize to Dean for biting his arm and she hoped he would forgive her. At that thought, she whimpered and Amelia wrapped her arms around Asher's neck, pressing her face into the fur that hadn't been touched by blood in the fight, and Dean looked over the back of his seat, an unreadable look on his face.

"How is she?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Amelia admitted. "I... I can't tell." She sniffed and tears started falling.

Asher whined.

Back at the motel, once the doors were locked and barricaded—it wasn't like the entire pack of werewolves was going to wander into the middle of town, but one could never be too careful—Asher cooperated and let Amelia lead her over to the bed, using the chains as a lead. Asher climbed onto the bed without provocation and laid down, staring at the wall as her sister went about attaching the chains to the bed; she had never paid attention as she was restrained, so she couldn't have told anyone how Amelia hooked them up, but Asher had never been able to escape before. When she was finished, Amelia walked into the bathroom to shower and find a level head before she had anymore interaction with her sister, and Sam—the least bloody of them all—went to get food at Dean's urging.

Alone with the transformed werewolf, Dean pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat down. His heavy leather jacket was gone, revealing the injury Asher had given him—there was a nearly perfect imprint of the wolf's jaw in the middle of Dean's forearm. He was, intentionally or not, holding it at such an angle so that Asher could see it perfectly. She closed her eyes and whined at the sight, and the guilt, at causing Dean pain.

He mistook the noise for pain at the chains burning her skin; small wisps of smoke were beginning to rise from her flesh where the chains had burned through her fur and were now touching flesh. "Shit, Ash..."

She tried to force the change again—nothing.

"Bark once if it's you in control."

She gave a small yip.

Dean leaned in closer and tentatively placed a hand behind her ear, digging his fingers into her thick black fur. She closed her yellow eyes and leaned into his hand the best she could. "Can you change back?"

Asher tried again. She reached into that dark place and found the wolf, visualized her curled up with her tail over her eyes. As Asher approached, the wolf lifted her head and gazed at her intently, waiting for some sign. Following the only way she knew how to deal with dogs, Asher lifted her hand and pointed deeper into the dark space and told the wolf to go and take her form with her. _If you go now, I'll let you out to run again when I can. We'll run and hunt. I am sorry I've been neglecting you. _The wolf nodded after a moment, giving Asher a growl that said she'd better keep her promise, and then trotted off, her inky fur melding with the blackness of the headspace they shared.

As the wolf disappeared, Asher felt her body painfully shifting back to human. She found, however, that if she remained in the dark place, it didn't hurt as much—it was as if she was removed from her body.

When she opened her eyes, the chains were pressing tighter into her flesh, burning deep gouges into her muscles. Asher screamed. Dean dropped to his knees and started pulling at the chains, trying to get them to loosen. He couldn't. Realizing her screams could draw unwanted attention, Asher pressed her face into the pillow and tried not to move too much. Dean tried again and did something that got the chains to give a couple inches of slack. He then moved the chains so the deep trenches could fill in, before moving to the kitchenette and ran cold water on a clean towel. When he returned, Asher was panting and there were tears streaking her face, but her mouth was curved in a small smile.

Dean sat down and began wiping the sweat and blood from Asher's body. "What are you smiling about?"

"I changed. I think I found a way to control the wolf," she breathed.

"Okay... so the wolf is a separate being then?"

Asher somehow managed to give him an indignant look. "Do you really think _I _would bite you?"

"Well..." At another look from Asher, Dean shook his head. "No. Not like that, anyway." After a moment, Dean asked a question he knew he probably already had the answer for. "Are you okay?"

"Not really." As she spoke, Asher's voice nearly broke and she reached out one hand towards Dean. He looked startled by the movement—or maybe it was the sizzling of new flesh—but he reached out and wrapped his hand around hers. "Dean... I'm sorry."

"As long as I don't need to get a shot, there's nothing to apologize for."

Asher smiled and then closed her eyes. Dean held her hand until she fell asleep, and that had to be from exhaustion, because Dean had no idea how she could sleep with her skin burning and blistering, but then again, she was probably used to it by now. He held her hand until her arm went slack and she let go, and then for a while after that. Even when she let go, Dean sat there and stared at her, not because she was naked, but because even in sleep, even when she didn't show it while awake, Asher was obviously in pain. She whimpered in her sleep, whimpered like the dog she had been moments before, and her body shook slightly, trembled. Dean watched her in silence, the only sounds the soft sizzle of her flesh and the running of the water in the bathroom.

"Hold on Ash. Amelia will know what to do."

Dean wished he did.

* * *

**Author's Note.**

So far, this is my favourite book.

Just thought I'd share that.

I only have one more assignment and a midterm to do and then I AM DONE. And then it's all about video games and writing! WOO!

Enjoy.

**Next Chapter: No Mercy.**


	6. Chapter Six: No Mercy

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book Three: Werewolves.  
**Chapter Six: No Mercy.

* * *

Amelia didn't know what to do.

She mumbled something about the burns never having been this bad, before getting all flustered at the sight of her slowly burning sister. After Sam had managed to calm her down, she did the only thing that might help—she dug out her medical kit and gave Asher all the painkillers she had in there, which wasn't much and wouldn't last long with her werewolf's metabolism. But at least it was something, and it was something that made her whimpering cease. The burning didn't stop, but the trenches the chains were cutting in her tan skin began to cauterize and though the smell worsened, the immediate damaged lessened. The horrible smell of burning flesh clung to the room, but no one commented on it.

Everyone ignored it.

Amelia became suddenly engrossed in a book and Sam disappeared, heading out after food or booze or both, leaving Dean to sit in the chair and stare at the werewolf. He didn't leave the chair beside Asher's bed, not even when Sam returned with food. The remainder of the pizza sat on the table and grew hard and cold and still Dean did not pull himself away from the burning woman. He couldn't. Partly due to sick fascination, partly to curiosity and partly because of his closeness to Asher, the bizarre connection they shared.

Sam and Amelia ate and then went to bed, curling up together on Amelia's bed; Sam's arms encased the much smaller woman and her head fit neatly into the curve of his throat. Dean only spared them a glance and was momentarily jealous of their ability to distance themselves from the situation and prepare for the next day, whatever it would bring. He knew it wasn't because they didn't care, but because they were exhausted. Dean couldn't bring himself to sleep. Couldn't bring himself to do anything but sit there and stare at the wounded werewolf as she burned away and wonder if she would be all right. More than once he caught himself leaning closer to her prone form, hand outstretched as if he would touch her but unsure of where to place his fingers. He wasn't sure how to react to Asher in so much pain, not because he cared about her, or because it was hard to watch, but because it was Asher, who was strong and unflappable and immoveable. She shouldn't be confined to the bed. It was wrong.

It was wrong to see her lying there, black hair messy, matted with blood and sticking to her skin with sweat. Her tan skin was shiny with it and her chest rose and fell in short breaths, unnatural for her. She was unconscious, but still her eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the pain.

"Asher," he breathed, voice catching slightly.

"Dean..."

He jumped, startled by her voice after the lengthy period of silence. The older Winchester leaned forward, consciously this time, and wrapped both his hands around her groping fingers. "Hey Ash."

She feebly tried to pull his hands closer to her face, but unmarred skin began to sear and she stopped, wincing. "Get me out of these things..."

Only because the sun was close to rising did Dean agree; through the window in the back wall he could see the first gray-white light of dawn between the trees. He didn't actually think Asher would flat out attack him, but he knew if night had still been out in full force, Asher would have stayed chained up just in case the wolf decided she wasn't finished. As it was, he nodded, fingers trailing over her arm as he dropped to his knees and began to fumble with the chains hooked under the bed.

Surprisingly, the rattling didn't wake Sam or Amelia—they wouldn't be up for at least another hour—nor did Asher's pained gasps as the chains fell away and her skin began to knit itself together. Apparently, it was as painful a process as the actual burning. She curled into a ball on the bed, wrapped her arms around her legs and pressed her mouth to her knee to stifle the whimpers, but these noises of pain didn't last nearly as long as the burning had. It wasn't long before she was able to unwind and pull herself from the bloody sheets, as if she couldn't stand to remain on them. She stumbled to her feet, wavered and failed to catch herself. Dean caught her before she crumbled to the ground like the chains but, because of her sideways movement, they both went down anyway.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked quietly; Sam and Amelia had both made some noises and shifted as Asher and Dean had fallen, but they still hadn't awoken.

"I'll be fine," Asher replied, her voice still tight with pain. She pressed her face into the soft fabric of Dean's t-shirt, her nose poking against his sternum and her hands balling into the fabric above his stomach. He felt more than heard her moan, the vibrations thrumming through him. "I'll be fine."

Dean manoeuvred himself until he was sitting with his back against the bed and could hold Asher to him, his legs on either side of her. Rather uncharacteristically and likely only because there was no one else to see, Asher pulled herself to Dean, wrapped herself around him and cried softly until the pain had passed. Dean didn't say anything, just held her, just hushed her and stroked her blood-matted hair.

"I'm sorry," she said as the last of the tears vanished. "I'm so sorry Dean."

He put his mouth close to his ear as he hugged her closer to his chest, her hand tightening around the handful of t-shirt she had grabbed. "Don't apologize."

"I nearly tore your arm off."

"You already said that wasn't you."

She nuzzled into his chest again in a very dog-like way. Dean reached around the bed to where he had piled the comforter when Amelia was tying her sister to the bed and wrapped it around Asher the best he could without making her move. Accepting the warmth, Asher cuddled deep into the blanket; Dean was impressed at how many of the burns had already disappeared completely. She still didn't let go of Dean's shirt. For a few moments they sat in silence, listening to the soft sounds of Sam and Amelia sleeping; one of Dean's hands idly stroked Asher's naked back and the other remained low on her waist.

"Before the others gets up, Ash, I want to ask you something."

She looked up at him with her face still mostly pressed into his chest. It made her blue eyes look wide and her face appear vulnerable—she was anything but vulnerable. "You want to know why I went, don't you?"

Dean just nodded, sensing that this would be a difficult topic for Asher to discuss.

Asher sighed and shifted, wincing as she moved. When she was sitting more upright and could look Dean in the eye with the hostility she normally had towards everyone. This time however, it wasn't directed at Dean; it was wherever her eyes were focused, somewhere out in the country at an old farmhouse. For several minutes, she just sat there in silence, Dean's arms still around her under the blanket, until she finally said, "I could try and explain the metaphysics behind it or whatever, but that always sounds so lame. The truth of it though, is that the Alpha... called to me. I felt him as soon as we got into town; knew it was a big wolf, a powerful wolf. I fought off going to him for as long as I could, but something—probably the rest of the pack helping him—finally pulled me away. Got me to attack Amelia." She closed her eyes and sighed, leaning back into Dean's shoulder. "I felt myself slipping away..."

"She knows you'd never attack her on purpose, Ash."

"That's not the point, Dean. The point is that I no longer know if I have completely control over myself. I watched from behind my own eyes as I attacked my sister—I saw what I'm going to become—"

"What?"

Asher sat up again, straight and under her own power. She wrapped the blanket around her naked body, almost as if to ward of the cold, but it wasn't the chill of the air. It was the chill of memory. "Dean... the other wolves... their eyes and hands and teeth don't just change." She paused, letting that information sink in. She knew that the Winchesters had only encountered werewolves in their most basic of forms. As she watched Dean's face grow wary, she tried to push some of her bloody hair back from her face, tuck it behind her ears. "They had full animal forms. Their wolves came out into the open. And they were big. Bigger than normal wolves. _Much _bigger. And I saw a couple of the more powerful wolves turn into like, a wolfman form. A fucking wolfman, Dean. And they were all mean. Vicious." She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, bringing the blanket with her. Dean didn't try to touch her. She was in some other place, reliving some memories that clearly were not comfortable or easy for her. "Dean..." Her voice broke and she crumpled forward a bit, tears bubbling over her lids.

"Ash... what did you see?"

"Dean, those men and women are murderers. They _like _killing. They _enjoy_ it. They're barely human anymore..." She sat up straight again and wiped her eyes with the corner of the comforter. "I... I liked hunting the animals, Dean. Not my wolf. Me."

"Ash."

"I'm going to turn into one of those _things_." A fine trembling started in her hands and moved up her arms to her torso. She backed away from Dean when he tried to approach her. "They've all gotta die," she managed through clenched teeth. She was crying again.

Noise from the bed brought her to a complete stop for about a second. When Dean turned to look, he found Sam sitting up in bed, staring at Asher over Dean's head—or more precisely, the spot where Asher used to be. The bathroom door slammed shut as Dean wondered where she'd gone. He sagged back against the bed and sighed heavily. Asher had always thought of herself as a monster, regardless of the constant reassurance from Dean, Amelia, Sam, Bobby, Ellen, and Jo that she was not. That she was a human, a hunter, one of them. This experience would do nothing to help that self-image. Dean was pretty sure there was something else she wasn't telling them, that she may never tell them, tell him.

"Is she okay?" Sam asked.

Amelia was pulling herself into a sitting position beside the younger Winchester, a concerned look breaking through the haze of sleep. "What's wrong?"

Dean sighed again and ran his hands back over his hair. "Asher was trying to tell me what she saw at the house. About the other wolves." He heard the shower running in the motel bathroom and wondered if Asher would ever finish talking to him. If they'd ever get that moment back.

Amelia seemed to gather that her and Sam waking up had interrupted something more important than just information. She climbed off the bed and walked over to the bathroom, knocking on the door but walking in away instead of waiting for a knock. Dean waited to hear Asher scream at her sister, for Amelia to come out of the bathroom again, but she didn't. The water shut off and there was a soft murmuring audible through the door. But that was it. Fairly sure the moment was gone, Dean got to his feet and went to find food.

* * *

Amelia emerged from the bathroom once to gather some clothes for Asher and then once again a few moments later. She didn't say anything to Sam or Dean about what they talked about or what had happened. When Asher came out, she was dressed in her normal black skinny jeans, another baggy t-shirt—this one bright red with some faded logo across the chest—but that was it. No belts, no holsters, no boots. She was not hunting and didn't look pleased about it as the others prepared to hit the werewolf hideout before it moved.

"They'll be less active during the day," she was saying from her place sitting cross-legged on the couch. "They won't be any less strong, but they'll be slower to react and slower to change. The transformation is more painful during the day as well for some reason, especially for the weaker wolves." Asher's blue eyes were locked on the floor and she kept running the fingers of one hand through her loose black hair. "Watch out for the Alpha. He'll probably transform before attacking you. He's a big tawny wolf—huge and incredibly strong. If you see him, shoot him multiple times without thinking about it." She closed her eyes and sighed, moving her fingers like she was counting off things from a list. "Werewolves are at their weakest when they're changing, so if one drops to the ground suddenly, shoot it. The moon is completely full tonight, so if you're out there that long, don't let them bite you. Run. Don't keep fighting." She looked up at them then, blue eyes dark.

"Ash, are you sure you want us to kill them all?" Amelia asked.

She nodded. "Those men and women are murderers and if they are not stopped, they will kill more innocents. They will take over this whole town and they'll just keep going. We have to kill them."

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Dean asked.

Asher gave him an indignant look. "I would love to come, but I don't want to risk changing and hurting any of you. Or being forced to hurt any of you. The Alpha can control me," she added glumly. Sam, Dean and Amelia looked at her for a moment longer until she scoffed and waved towards the door. "_Go._ You're wasting daylight." Sam and Amelia left. Dean remained. "What?" she snapped.

He crossed the distance to the couch and dropped to his knees in front of her so they were closer to eye level. "Are you really okay with us killing a bunch of werewolves?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to be okay sitting here?"

"Yes."

Dean leaned in, put his face close to hers. "Ash."

She stared at him for a moment and then side and put her forehead against his. "No. I'm not. But I'll deal."

He put his hands on her arms and pushed her back just far enough to look her in the eye properly. She closed her eyes, not wanting him to see her pain anymore. He leaned in a kissed her softly on the lips.

Then he got to his feet and left.

* * *

Asher had been wrong to think that her wolf wouldn't be an issue until nightfall. She could feel the wolf pack, the wildness calling to her, to the animal part of her. Her wolf was howling inside, begging to be let out to run. She could feel the Alpha calling to her, directly to her, and it was proving hard to ignore him. Her wolf didn't want to ignore him. She was howling to run, beginning, ramming against the inside of Asher's head, of her body—physical signs were showing. Faint scratch and bite marks, pushed out from the inside. There was an actual animal inside there. Metaphysical, maybe, but real.

Luckily, it didn't hurt very much. Just felt very, very weird.

While her inside rolled and the wolf tried to get out, Asher paced the motel room, wringing her hands and trying to get her wolf to calm down. There was a sheen of sweat on her brow and if you got close enough, you could hear the grinding of her teeth. She was losing the fight to keep the wolf inside and she knew it.

_You can't come out. We have to stay here... I should have got them to chain us up before they left. _

_No, no, no chains. No. Let me run._

_Not yet. We'll run when this is all over. We'll run when we won't hurt anyone. _

_Run, run, run._

_No! We can't!_

The wolf growled so loudly, Asher could have sworn it came out her own throat—maybe it had. The wolf pushed at her confines inside Asher's head and a scream did come from her lips. This hurt. This wasn't the wolf just pushing. This was the wolf fighting to get out; this was the wolf actually trying to hurt her host. Asher groaned in pain, held her head and curled into a ball, as if that would help keep the wolf inside.

_Run, run, run._

"No! We can't!"

The wolf howled inside Asher's head and broke past the flimsy barrier the hunter had set up. Asher screamed, her back bowed and her skin began to split. She was changing. There was nothing she could do. Asher screamed and shifted.

The black wolf that stood where Asher had been a moment later shook out her fur, howled and ran.

* * *

**Author's Note.**

Okay, so thanks to working at EB Games (Gamestop Canada), I had a bunch of new video games and I ended up playing more than writing this holiday. Oh well! I'm back at it now after a very enjoyable and relaxing holiday so I'm sure the writing will just pour from my fingers since it's been so long. I'm a little ashamed, but apparently I just needed time to be a lump on the couch. The writing takes first priority again.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I sure as hell can't wait for Supernatural to start up again. I miss my shows!

Enjoy.

**Next Chapter: Risky Business.**


	7. Chapter Seven: Risky Business

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book Three: Werewolves.  
**Chapter Seven: Risky Business.

* * *

The farmhouse looked normal: unassuming and clean across the field, white nearly blinding in the sun. There was only one sign that anything supernatural and sinister was going on inside the house, and that was a barely visible streak of blood along one side of the house and a slightly metallic smell in the air. There was more blood on the grass and near the windows, if you knew where to look, but it wasn't as obvious. However, this was not enough to draw much attention beyond the three hunters creeping towards the house now; to others, it would just appear the owner had been hunting and had perhaps dismembered the animal corpse outside. That was true, in a sense. But a farmer had not been the hunter. A werewolf had.

Amelia looked at the blood and wrinkled her nose, tears bubbling in the corners of her eyes. She mumbled something to herself and continued around to the other side of the house where they had located a broken window large enough to crawl through. It appeared to lead into the kitchen, and they hadn't been able to spot anyone from that window. Sam and Dean were already standing beneath the window, waiting and quietly discussing a plan of attack. Storming a nest of werewolves was not something they'd done before and it was not something they wanted to screw up.

"I'll go through first," Dean whispered. Meeting with no opposition, he pulled off his jacket and put it over the miniscule shards of glass that remained in the window frame before hoisting himself into the dirty kitchen, doing his best to make absolutely no noise; werewolves would hear nearly anything with their heightened senses. He pulled his 9mm pistol out from the back of his belt and took a couple steps away from the window, setting up a barrier to allow the other two to get into the house safely. "Okay," he called quietly over his shoulder. Amelia came through next, wide-eyed and a little shaky. She looked like she was going to snap at any moment, at the smallest noise or the first sign of movement. "Are you going to be all right?" Dean asked as Sam climbed through the window.

She nodded, but couldn't get her eyes to return to normal. "Yeah, yeah... I'll be fine."

Dean just nodded and turned back towards the rest of the house.

The kitchen was filthy and the metallic smell of blood was much stronger. Reddish-brown stains littered the tile and the formerly white appliances and there were bits of stuff on the floor that none of the hunters were keen to identify. They looked like dried meat, but if they were anything other than human, Dean would eat his hat. Or he would if he had one. As they proceeded farther into the house, they were met with more rust-coloured stains and dried bits, but there was also a growing pressure that the hunters would later identify as the nest of supernatural power they were walking into, something they had developed a sensitivity for in their long years of hunting. People started becoming visible in the hallway leading to the living room and the hunters could almost see the power radiating from them in waves, like heat above the road on a hot summer day.

There was a couple in the hall, so entwined that it was difficult to tell which limb belonged to which person. Dean gestured and Sam approached, gun drawn. They knew that once they shot these two, the rest of the wolves would probably wake up and be on them; at the very list, the Alpha would wake up and be on them and that was almost worse than having the rest of the pack descend. From what Asher said, the Alpha was ridiculously strong and powerful; anyone that could control Asher scared Dean. Not that he'd ever admit it. The Winchester brothers looked at each other, nodded and then put the muzzles of their guns to the heads of the wolves. They twitched under the cold metal. There were silver bullets in the guns and the poison would spread through the body no matter where the bullet entered, but by shooting them in the head, they would incapacitate them while the silver did its thing. Sam and Dean took a simultaneous deep breath and pulled the triggers, gunshots echoing loudly in the hall and through the house.

A moment of silence following the noise resolved and the hunters could hear movement upstairs and ahead of them. As a unit, they walked backwards down the hall, guns out. They stopped in front of the door to the closed-off kitchen, allowing themselves a way out if they needed it.

The first werewolf to appear was a small woman, thin and frail-looking. She turned greenish eyes towards them, lips pulling back over her teeth as she growled. As she moved, her skin began to ripple along her spine. She made it halfway down the hall before she collapsed, her skin retreating under a wave of brown fur. Amelia shot her in the head as her bones began to crack and shift. Three more wolves crawled from the living room, three men who looked enough alike to be brothers, and they all paused to sniff the woman before they began to change as well. Gunshots rang out above the sound of breaking bones and they fell, nearly on top of the woman, creating a barrier of bodies that wouldn't act as much of deterrent. But it was better than nothing.

"I can hear a lot of movement upstairs," Sam said, voice quiet but still above a whisper. There really was no point in whispering. "Maybe we should go back outside."

Dean and Amelia both glanced towards the window. "Let's go before they mob us," Dean said. "We're going to get forced out anyways. You guys go first." Dean turned sideways, forcing Sam and Amelia deeper into the kitchen and aimed his gun down the hall, half hiding himself behind the doorjamb. He heard the others struggling out the window, just as more wolves came pouring down the stairs; there were more than Asher had anticipated. Dean cursed under his breath and chanced a glance over his shoulder. Finding the window clear, he backed towards it as quickly as he could without falling over and awkwardly climbed back down to the grass. "Get to the front lawn," he ordered as he started moving. There were no furrows there, just grass; a better place to fight.

The hunters reached the relatively open expanse just as the wolves began pouring out of the front door. All of the werewolves were naked, covered in blood and dirty and they were all seething, anger pouring from them in conjunction with their power. It was a lot to take, even for the non-supernatural beings of Dean, Sam and Amelia.

People started falling to the ground, changing with varying degrees of speed and pain. The hunters shot as many as they could, having to pause to reload after not even two minutes. Transformed wolves ran towards the hunters during that pause, snarling and snapping. Asher had said they'd be slower, but they were still fast enough to tackle the humans, still fast enough to have the upper hand.

A grey wolf with pale green eyes took Dean to the ground, jaws wrapped around his arm; thankfully he had put his jacket back on and the canvas was enough to keep the teeth from puncturing his skin. He may have been perfectly fine with Asher being a wolf, but that didn't mean he wanted to turn furry. Dean shot the grey wolf between the eyes and it collapsed on top of him. He pushed the warm body off him and hurriedly got to his feet, hazel eyes swinging around to find Sam similarly pinned with one wolf snapping at his face and another trying to gnaw through his jeans. Amelia kicked the wolf on top of Sam hard in the side, turning its attention to her instead.

Dean moved to help, but another wolf, larger, heavier and more powerful than the last, knocked him over and stood above him, snarling; a long time of drool feel onto his cheek.

There was a louder growl and a black wolf Dean was becoming increasingly familiar with wrapped her teeth around the bigger animal's neck and pulled, steering him away from Dean; the eyes that looked out from the wolf's head were green, but there was something unquestionably Asher in those eyes. Lying on his side, Dean shot the wolf three times: once in the head and twice in the chest.

Asher looked at him and then leapt into the fray.

That was when the Alpha showed up.

He was already in wolf form. Dean took one look and fired off several shots, as did Sam and Amelia. A few of the bullets struck home and the massive tawny wolf slowed down, but didn't stop; didn't fall over. He stalked across the impromptu battlefield, towards Dean, who was the closet and most direct target. Dean kept shooting until the gun clicked empty. The Alpha kept coming.

"Why won't you die?" Dean asked, exasperated.

The Alpha laughed, a rough noise that was human and disturbing coming from a wolf's mouth; blood trickled out of the wolf's mouth as he opened his maw and prepared to attack.

He didn't get the chance.

Asher, not a small wolf by any means, but small next to the Alpha, appeared behind him, growling. Her back was slightly arched, the long hairs standing up on end. With her eyes narrowed and long fangs showing, already dripping blood, she painted quite the picture. When the Alpha echoed her stance though, he again dwarfed the black wolf.

Knowing he didn't want to be anywhere near the battle and that he could help from a distance, Dean backed away from the conflict and ran to help Sam and Amelia take out the remaining wolves, leaving Asher to face down the Alpha who had taken every last bit of her humanity.

_Why did you bring the hunters here?_ the Alpha asked, voice rumbling through her head.

Telepathic communication felt like nails on the inside of her skull; at least, it did with the Alpha. She winced and stared into the Alpha's eyes, drawing on all her concentration to give a response. It was not something that came easily to her. _I brought them to kill you and your wolves. You are murderers and you need to be stopped. _

_You are one of us._

_I am not! _But even as Asher protested, she knew how close she had been to losing control of her beast, how close she had come to completely losing herself. Her wolf felt the desire to kill and she knew if she had lost herself, she probably would have become a murderer, someone the hunters would have to take down. _I am not one of you, _she said again. _And I won't let myself become like you. _

_You are an animal._

_Maybe, but I'm also a human._

_You are not._

In response, Asher leapt forward and slammed into the Alpha's chest, using every bit of her strength to knock him over. She stood above him, a leg on either side of his head, nose close to his eye, knowing full well that it was only because of the already copious amount of silver in his system that had allowed her to knock him over. Making sure the Alpha was looking her in the eyes, Asher shifted back to her human shape, a hand on either side of the Alpha's head and the weight of her body holding him to the ground. She bared her teeth in a wolfish gesture and snarled, "I am human."

"Ash!"

Senses still in hyperactive mode, Asher raised a hand and caught the knife Amelia threw, the blade cutting into the skin on her palm from the way she caught it and from the high silver content. She shifted her grip on the knife and pressed the tip against the Alpha's eye, the orb trembling slightly until the touch of cold metal. "You're done."

She shoved the knife in quickly, up to the miniscule hilt, but in a last show of strength, Alpha tossed his head and pushed Asher off him, twisting in such a way that allowed him to sink his teeth into the flesh of her side. Asher screamed, but slammed her hand into the knife, sending it farther into Alpha's head and stealing that last little bit of life from him. The giant wolf collapsed and Asher rolled away from him, hands clutching at her side, trying to stem the flow of blood.

The other hunters ran to her, Amelia instantly moving to investigate the wound and Dean taking her head in his lap, hands on her cheeks, holding her so he could look her in the eye.

There were tears in her eyes and pain. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit... FUCK!" she screamed.

"Why isn't it starting to heal?" Amelia asked, panicked.

"Silver. The bastard had silver somewhere!"

Sam was kneeling beside Alpha's corpse. It had just transformed back to a man and the taller Winchester was poking around. After a moment, he rose to his feet and joined the others. "Silver caps on his teeth."

"WHAT?" Asher groaned loudly and pressed herself against Dean.

"Ash, I can't do anything for this. I can't get it to start healing. I don't know what to do!"

The werewolf groaned again, trying to grab at her side. Amelia kept pushing her hands away. Dean held onto her tighter, fighting the very real urge to hug her for fear of hurting her. "I've got to change," she managed to say. "It'll help."

"But you won't be able to change until the morning! The moon is full!"

Amelia sounded so panicked that Sam crouched beside her and wrapped his arms around her even as he kept his dark eyes roving the yard and house, looking for any sign of further attack. The young woman crumbled against Sam, clinging, the tears finally starting to fall. Asher would be able to change back in the morning, sure, but that was only if she survived the night and the blood still hadn't stopped.

"Ash..."

"Amelia," she snapped. "I'll be fine." She turned her blue eyes to Dean. "Let me go."

Dean stared at her for a moment and then nodded. He shimmied out from under her head and watched as she rolled onto her side—the blood flow increasing—and then pushed herself up onto her knees. She screamed as the change began to ripple through her and then she fell back onto the ground, once again a black wolf, her fur slick with blood.

Amelia tried to approach her sister.

Asher growled and snapped at her hand.

* * *

**Author's Note.**

Damn it, I want Supernatural to come back... I miss it! I miss Dean.

I also want the world to spin slower so I can have more time in the day to do stuff.

I also also want school to be done.

But not at the same time.

Life is so conflicting sometimes...

GRAAAAAGH.

Anyways, enjoy.

**Next Chapter: Not Quite Finished.**


	8. Chapter Eight: Not Quite Finished

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book Three: Werewolves.  
**Chapter Eight: Not Quite Finished.

* * *

Sam, Dean and Amelia had backed away from the snarling and injured wolf, afraid to get their hands bitten off or attacked. None of them thought Asher would do it on purpose, but it was pretty clear she wasn't herself at that moment and the hunters didn't want to push their luck. Amelia's face was streaked with tears and she continued to cry silently, the fingers of one hand entwined in Sam's; he acted as an anchor to keep her from running to her wolfish sister. The fingers of her other hand were clenching and unclenching repeatedly, like she wanted to take Asher's hand or something and couldn't.

Dean, on the other hand, had no anchor aside from his boots on the ground. He wanted to run towards her and he was having a very hard time not doing just that. Something inside Dean had wound tight at the sight of Asher in pain.

Currently, the hunters stood in a half-circle facing Asher with their backs to the house, watching as she struggled to her feet and attempted to move; Dean's gun was bare in his hand, ready if the need arose. The transformation into her wolf form seemed to have healed her wound somewhat, but she was still having trouble moving; since the injury had been created by a silver weapon, it would heal almost at a normal pace. The massive black wolf growled as she made her way in the general direction of the nearby trees, even going so far as to try and run and falling to her belly on the bloody ground. The hunters stood still, unsure of how she would react if any of them approached. The silence surrounding them was complete except for a low and frustrated rumble coming from Asher's throat and a high keening coming from Amelia, who had clamped one hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming.

Her sister was dying, and there was nothing she could do.

Her sister, who had risked her life to protect her several times, could not be helped, not by earthly means.

Dean thought he heard Amelia muttering "I have to save her" over and over again, but he couldn't be sure.

After several long minutes, Amelia's hold on her control broke and she jogged forward, dropping to her knees beside Asher, reaching out with one hand like you might with an unfamiliar dog, so it could get used to your scent. Asher did lift her muzzle to Amelia's shaking hand and she bumped her black nose against Amelia's palm. The younger woman slid her hand along the black fur to behind the wolf's ear before lowering her forehead to Asher's, mouth moving as she whispered quietly to her sister; with a human right next to her for reference, it was clear just how large Asher was in wolf form. There was no doubt the top of her head would have reached Amelia's elbow. Amelia's small hands stroked the fur back from Asher's face and the wolf began to whine, her greenish eyes swirling down until they were once again blue.

"She's changing back," Sam whispered. "There's nothing in Dad's journal or any of the lore about this. She shouldn't be able to change back yet."

"Sam," Dean said, leaning towards his brother, "has anything Asher shown us about werewolves been in Dad's journal or any of the lore?" When the taller Winchester shook his head, Dean contained a laugh. "Maybe you should write a new book and let future generations of hunters know what to expect."

"Dean, they're not really our secrets to disclose. Asher's only given us all this information to keep us alive."

The older Winchester sighed and nodded. _And now we can't do anything to help her._

A strangled cry drew the boys' attention out of their own thoughts and back to the bizarre scene in front of them. Asher, once again human and with her skin still rippling from the change, was crouched on the ground, her face in Amelia's hands and tears streaming down her face, cutting through the grime. Amelia's hands seemed to be the only thing keeping Asher upright and even so, she was sagging heavily against the support, her body bent with exhaustion and her wounds still bleeding freely. Her side and lap were covered in blood, as were her hands and arms. She would have been frightening except for the defeated look on her face.

"I can't... can't heal," she gasped, blue eyes impossibly wide and tear-filled. "No... control. I can't heal..." Asher gasped as if she couldn't breathe. She looked so afraid.

Asher collapsed, eyes rolling back in her head, skin turning deathly pale almost before their eyes and small convulsions rocking her body. Amelia fell on her sister, grief and worry pouring from her mouth and eyes, hands scrambling to hold pressure on the wound created by the Alpha. The blood seemed to be coming faster than before, probably due to the rapid and uncharacteristic changes back and forth.

"Asher! Asher, you can't die! Asher!" Amelia wailed, all her medical knowledge and composure gone out the window. "DAMN IT, YOU CAN'T DIE!"

Sam pulled the distraught Amelia from Asher and wrapped his arms around her, holding her as still as he could against his chest as she cried and screamed for her sister. Dean went to Asher, taking Amelia's place, and crouched beside her. As he did so, he realized what kind of pain she was in, both physical and mental. He gently touched her cheek and she rolled into his hand, a moan escaping her lips and her hands lifting towards the touch; uncovered, the amount of blood was startling.

She was pale and clammy, sweating and cold at the same time. Her eyes, when he could see them, were halfway between blue and green and were misty, almost as if she couldn't focus, or not on anything physical. There were fresh claw marks on her stomach, but they looked they were coming from the inside, as if her wolf was trying to actually claw its way out, as if there was actually a physical wolf inside her, not just a metaphysical one. Asher was making a noise that sounded like a distant scream, quiet and thin, but just as alarming.

After some quiet cursing under his breath, Dean gathered himself together and started doing... something.

Dean removed his jacket and balled it up so he could push it against the wound in her side. The fabric soaked up the blood quickly, but Dean didn't flinch; he was happy to see the blood start to slow and he had been covered in blood before. A fraction of the colour reappeared in Asher's skin and she opened her eyes. She didn't seem to see anything though, as her eyes rolled around in her head and she continued to twist under Dean's hands, muttering half-formed words around noises of pain. Dean had seen a lot of scary and terrible shit, but this was by far the worst he'd seen so far. Asher was so in control of herself and such a force to be reckoned with, that—like when she was vulnerable and chained to the bed—it bothered Dean greatly to see her so unlike herself, so out of control and fighting for her life. He had gotten used to the idea that she wasn't going anywhere. Asher wouldn't let herself be shot in the chest, plus, no one would know to have silver bullets unless they knew what she was. Dean had adjusted to the fact that she was strong, nearly immortal and now... now she was on the edge of death, fading away beneath his hands...

_At least you'll have company in hell, _a small voice said.

Dean shook his head to rid himself of the thought and turned his attention back to Asher, sniffing back his emotion as discreetly as he could.

Her eyes were green again.

Apparently, in the face of her fading control and life, the beast inside her was attempting to take control, to assert herself and take control. But Dean could see Asher fighting—the fresh claw marks appearing on her stomach were evidence of that. He timidly put his hand over those marks and felt something sharp behind her skin.

"Shit."

"Dean..." she breathed.

He grabbed her eyes with his, slightly startled by her voice. "Hold on Ash. We'll get you through this. Keep fighting."

"I'm losing, Dean..."

A loud growl erupted from somewhere behind them. Dean looked over his shoulder and saw one of the werewolves in human form—a young woman with short blonde hair that had been styled in spikes at one point—climbing out from a pile of bodies. There was a nice big hole in her side, but the bullet had gone through and the haze of the silver had obviously worn off. She had survived and she was pissed. She was looking for blood and apparently, she had targeted Asher; her dark eyes were set and her hackles were raised. Her skin began to ripple, but she didn't change. Clearly, she had control, even in her enraged state.

Dean remained on the ground, holding pressure on Asher's wound. Sam let go of Amelia and blocked the wolf from charging anyone else, grappling with the beast.

Amelia crawled along the ground to her sister. She had stopped crying. Maybe there were no tears left. She knelt beside Asher, body bent over the wound as if she was protecting it; she was muttering softly, attention completely focused on her sister, hands hovering over the blood. Dean shifted so she could hold pressure and moved to Asher's head again; the werewolf stared up at him like he was the last thing left.

The wolf who had awoken threw herself suddenly at Sam, breaking through his defences. The younger Winchester gathered his wits about him as the wolf stumbled past and wrapped his long arms around her middle, tackling her to the ground and attempting to pin her there so she couldn't get to Asher, even as she clawed at the ground and tried to pull herself and Sam along. She growled and snapped and tried her best to bite Sam.

Asher looked up at the noises, her eyes gone green and wolfish again.

"Back up, back up!" she managed to order.

Dean scrambled backwards, sensing the impending change and that Asher had no more control to use. Amelia however, did not move. Her hands were still clamped over her sister's wound and Amelia's thoughts were somewhere else. She was still muttering with eyes wide in horror, shock and worry.

"AMELIA!" Asher roared.

The other wolf responded to the noise and bucked under Sam's superior weight; even so, he was having a great deal of trouble keeping the tiny woman in place.

Asher's skin started to ripple again under Amelia's fingers and she still wasn't moving. Dean grabbed Amelia and dragged her backwards as he tried to prepare himself. He knew this couldn't be easy—transforming back and forth so rapidly had to hurt. Dean was worried Asher would lose control completely and not come back, but he couldn't say that, not when Amelia could hear him. He'd worry about that later—if they lost her, if they couldn't get her back. He concentrated on dragging Amelia away from Asher and pushed his negative thoughts away.

Asher rolled onto her stomach, blood streaking the grass as she moved.

"Dean," Amelia mumbled. "Dean, she can't change again. She won't survive it. Dean, she can't. She can't. She's going to get lost. You have to Dean. Dean, you have to."

Frozen with indecision, Dean looked back and forth between Asher and Amelia. Amelia looked close to breaking and Asher was close to changing, trying and failing to push herself to her hands and knees. Sam was still struggling with Blondie. Dean pulled his gun out from his belt, because that's what Amelia was talking about: killing Asher if she changed, because if she changed, she might not be able to come back. He looked down at Amelia. "Get out of here, Amelia. Hide. Don't watch." He didn't wait to see if she moved. Dean took a deep breath and approached Asher at the same time Sam finally gathered some ground with Blondie.

The taller Winchester managed to get his arms around her again, just as she was making a leap for the incapacitated Asher. He grabbed his gun and pressed it into her back above her heart and pulled the trigger without hesitation. Blood splattered over his face and neck, but Blondie fell forward.

"Get to Amelia, Sam."

Startled, he looked up at Dean, registered the gun in his hand and then nodded. He disengaged himself from the body and jogged across the space to Amelia, who was still watching.

Dean now stood over Asher, fingers tight on his weapon. Asher was struggling on the ground and making choking noises, but she wasn't bleeding very much at all, which was the only encouraging sign. Her skin was rippling and the claw marks on her stomach were darker, more pronounced. When she sensed Dean to her right, she snapped with a mouth that had elongated slightly into a muzzle. Her teeth were pointed slightly and her eyes were completely wolf.

"Ash, don't make me do this..." he breathed.

She snarled, her mind, at least on the surface, no longer human. Asher reached out with a half-transformed claw and took a swipe at Dean's leg. He backed off.

"Ash." He wanted to say more, but his voice broke.

He lowered his gun at Asher's chest. She snarled again, a growl emanating from low in her throat.

"I'm so sorry," Dean nearly gasped.

Asher levelled her wolfish eyes on him. His finger squeezed down on the trigger. She growled again, the noise turning into a pained moan.

She was fighting it.

She was still fighting it.

Dean let up, but only just. He watched black fur start to spread across Asher's face and watched human emotions flood across those green eyes. Her bones began to break and her form grew to the size of the wolf as the fur took over the rest of her naked form. There was a flash of her in full wolf form, eyes still locked on Dean, but that was it. Almost instantly, the change began to recede.

Her eyes never left Dean's, not until she collapsed on the ground, unconscious.

* * *

**Author's Note.**

SUPERNATURAL IS BACK.

Okay, how many times has THAT been an author's note?

Oh well. I'm super happy! Sam is back to being Bambi, Dean is back to being funny, and there's some serious shit going down. It's exactly what it should be and I am pleased. Very, very pleased.

Anyways, please enjoy and sorry it took so long.

**Next Chapter: Never Seen That Before.**


	9. Chapter Nine: Never Seen That Before

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

* * *

**Monster Hospital, Book Three: Werewolves.  
**Chapter Nine: Never Seen That Before.

* * *

When Asher woke up, she was staring at the water-stained ceiling of the motel room. It took her a few moments to remember, but that's where she was; she couldn't however, remember how she'd got there. All she could remember was hearing the wolf howling in her head, feeling a desire to change, to run, thinking that it wouldn't be so bad to change because it would help her heal, and then seeing Dean. After that, everything went blank. Asher didn't like it when she couldn't remember something. She remained perfectly still for a few moments and let the pain wash over her, her body pulsing with each new wave until it turned into a dull ache she could force to the back of her mind, all the while trying to remember what had happened. Once capable of movement, Asher sat up and shifted back until she was propped up against the headboard where she could take better stock of the situation, maybe find something to think about other than what was missing.

Someone—probably Amelia—had stitched her wounds closed. She was cleaner than she'd been in a long while and she was wearing a clean bra and fresh pair of plaid pyjama shorts which meant someone had bathed her and changed her, even washed and brushed her hair, and bandaged her wounds with thick gauze. Her entire body was stiff and sore, but she knew it would pass and pass soon. For the moment, she was just glad to be alive and in relatively one piece, but she wished Dean, Sam and Amelia were in the motel room; she wanted to see them, apologize to them. Her memories were fuzzy and scattered, but she remembered snapping and biting and hurting... She hoped she hadn't hurt anyone too badly, if she had at all.

Asher sighed and set her head back against the flimsy headboard, draping one bandaged arm over her waist and pulling her nearly waist-length hair over her shoulder with the other hand; even that small movement hurt. As the fresh pain passed, she looked around the room, saw the signs of Dean, Sam and Amelia having slept in various spots—the other bed, the couch, the floor—saw the empty fast food bags on the table. Her stomach grumbled loudly as the scent of old grease hit her nose and she realized that she was famished.

Almost as if her thoughts were heard, the door opened, admitting the three hunters she wanted most to see. But they didn't have food. Amelia all but ran to Asher's bedside while the boys hung back, watching with nearly identical small smiles on their faces; the biggest difference was the warmth in Dean's eyes, the happiness that she was awake and alive. Asher returned the smile over Amelia's shoulder before turning her attention to Amelia, who was already fussing at her bandages.

"I can't believe you're awake already," she mumbled.

"How long have I been out?" Asher asked, wincing as her sister pulled something.

Sam and Dean settled on the other bed in the room, sitting on the very edge so they were as close to Asher and Amelia as they could get without getting in the way. "Almost three days," the younger Winchester said since Dean hadn't been able to find his words yet.

"Three days—UGH, watch it Amelia—no wonder I'm so hungry."

Amelia looked up at her sister, a slight frown on her face. "I'll go get you food after I check your wounds. You were muttering and moaning and screaming in your sleep. You had me very worried. You had us all worried."

"Sorry, _Mom_."

Amelia's frown deepened, but it was quickly chased away by a smile, glad to see that her sister was back to normal. Or at least as normal as Asher ever had been. She finished checking the stitches, most of which had to be taken out so her skin wouldn't heal over them, and replaced the few stitches that had to be replaced. Amelia cleaned the blood away and replaced the gauze, just in case something tore or reopened. As Asher was not exactly the most patient person in the world, and then made Asher swallow a handful of pain killers so she might be able to move around without causing herself too much pain. When Dr. Amelia was sure her patient wouldn't start leaping about the moment she was gone and wasn't in any immediate danger, she and Sam went to get food for the werewolf and the rest of the crew. Once they were alone, Dean moved to sit on the end of Asher's bed and they stared at each other for several long moments, both searching for something to say.

"How are you feeling?" Dean finally asked, voice quiet.

A strange smile flickered across Asher's face. "I'm all right. Sore, stiff beyond belief... but I'm all right."

"I wasn't talking about your physical health."

"I know."

"Well then... how are you?"

Asher sighed and slid back down so she was lying on her back again, looking up at Dean and taking in the concern on his face. Her head was starting to get foggy thanks to the painkillers. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was worried about what she might say, but she was confident she wouldn't make too big a fool of herself. Hopefully. "I'm... still okay, I think," she said, but her voice was shaking. "The wolf, she was really just trying to help, I think... to heal, but I was afraid... I was afraid that I'd lose control and hurt one of you..." Her blue eyes glanced at the injury she'd inflicted on Dean and something changed in her gaze. "More than I already have." Asher sobbed heartily and made a motion like she was going to curl in on herself, but stopped at the last moment, remembering her injured side. "I could hear the wolf in my head, like she was talking to me. I could hear her and I wanted to give. It would have been so easy..." Her dull eyes found Dean and the ghost of a smile crossed her face, but it wasn't a happy gesture. It was the smile of someone who had realized a grizzly truth. "I can't keep fighting her Dean, but what if... what if..."

"What are you getting at?" Dean asked, worried.

"I can't fight the wolf anymore! I've lost! I've lost! I'm a monster!"

Dean leaned over her, putting a hand on either side of her and lowering himself until all she could see was his face. Under other circumstances, the posture would have been intimate and they would have closed the distance until they kissed, but as it was, Dean's closeness just demanded Asher's attention and she could not deny him. The tears ran down her cheeks silently, but she didn't look away. "Asher, stop talking like this," he whispered. "You may have to integrate this wolf into your life, but you don't have to change who you are. You don't have to give up anything. You haven't lost anything."

"Dean—"

"You can't give up Ash."

She closed her eyes and managed to settle farther back into the bed. "Dean, I don't want to struggle anymore," she nearly whined.

Dean grabbed her face, one hand per cheek and forced her to look at him, forced her to face someone who cared about her as she was. Her blue eyes were filled with tears but there was something missing, something that had been there before and had broken. He was losing her. She was physically fine and she was strong, but he was losing her. He couldn't lose her. Not to something he couldn't fight—and he would fight to save Asher, possibly to the death, but he couldn't fight something he couldn't see. "Asher," he breathed harshly. "Listen to me. You do not have to give up. I don't want you to give up."

She gasped, trying to get breath through her tears. She squeezed her eyes shut and looked away from Dean. Asher was muttering, and it sounded like "I can't" over and over again. She pushed at Dean's hands, but he refused to let go.

"Asher!" he barked.

"I'm not strong enough!" she yelled in his face.

Dean pulled back his hand and slapped her across the face. Not hard, but with enough force to be startling.

Some of her normal fire flooded back into her eyes quite suddenly, her tanned skin flushing at the point of contact. Asher grabbed Dean's wrists and squeezed tightly, a warm and vicious smile pulling at her lips. As her eyes brightened, Dean realized the blue orbs had been tinged with green—the wolf peeking out. Asher flooded back into herself and gave Dean a look that he would have paid for, a look he had never really thought he'd see from Asher. It was full of heat and happiness and a million other things he wasn't sure he could name.

"Dean," she choked. "That fucking hurt."

Dean barked a laugh before leaning down and kissing Asher full on the mouth. She slipped a hand behind his head and pulled him down against her, his weight resting on her injured side, even as he attempted to keep from settling completely. Asher grunted against Dean's mouth, but did not push him away, nor did she let him pull away, not that he tried very hard. She didn't give into the pain; when she was herself, Asher Michaels did not give up. When Asher let finally Dean go a moment later, he pulled back only slightly, just enough so he could speak unhampered.

"There you are," he whispered.

"Dean." Asher ran her fingers along his cheeks. "Dean... you pulled me back." More tears filled her eyes, but they were more modest, and she was smiling. "You pulled me back."

Although he was pretty sure what she was talking about, he had to ask. "What do you mean?" He slid to one side so he wasn't putting pressure on her injuries any longer, but he kept a hand on her stomach, fingers playing on the bare skin; all she was wearing was a bra and a pair of her plaid pyjama shorts.

"When I was about to change that last time, I looked at you and focused on your face and you brought me back. I was able to fight off the change." Asher sniffed back more emotion, clearly still off herself. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there, if I had transformed. I do not know if I would have come back to myself. I might have become a wolf permanently." Asher wrapped her hand around Dean's and pressed it tighter against her stomach. "You saved me, Dean." Heat crept into her cheeks. Dean had never seen her blush before. "And you saved me now. You help me keep my head about me when the wolf's around."

"Ash, you don't know what you're talking about. I think you're still high on painkillers."

She smiled and rolled onto her side so she could better look the hunter in the face. "I didn't know I could stop the transformation."

Dean brushed her black hair off her cheek. "None of us did."

"I feel like I'm losing myself, Dean."

His fingers lingered near her ear, his hazel eyes captured hers. "We'll make sure that doesn't happen."

She placed a hand over his. "I know."

"Why did you focus on me?"

She shimmied closer to him, wincing slightly. Dean didn't tell her not to move because he knew she'd do it anyway, but he did keep an eye on the bandaged area to make sure no fresh blood appeared. "Well, you were right there... And of the three of you... I couldn't stand the thought of not seeing you again. The thought that I might hurt you... It was worse than the thought that I'd already hurt Amelia, that I might hurt someone else." Asher's voice had dropped to a whisper. "I focused on you and I was able to control the wolf."

Dean was a little taken back by the bare emotion in Asher's voice. Like so much about this trip and this encounter with Asher, it was unsettling, but he tried not to let that show. Asher had swallowed a handful of painkillers and though the effects wouldn't last very much longer, she was influenced by them and, if he knew anything about the werewolf, he knew she'd be embarrassed by this display when and if she remembered. So, Dean didn't say anything back. He just kept his hand on her cheek and gave her a small, warm smile. She leaned into him and pressed her lips to his and Dean returned the kiss. He kissed her cheek, her temple, the top of her ear and felt her relax into sleep against his chest. The elder Winchester pulled the blanket up around Asher's shoulders and held her.

The door opened then, admitting Sam and Amelia, both of whom stopped to stare at the scene on the bed. No one said anything for a few seconds, but then Amelia's mouth split in a grin. She deposited three McDonald's bags on the counter before crossing the room to the other bed and sitting on the edge, much as the Winchesters had done earlier.

"I knew it," she whispered, looking triumphant.

Dean twisted painfully to give Amelia a look over his shoulder. "What are you talking about?"

"I knew there was more to you two."

"Well yeah."

Amelia rolled her eyes under the brim of her cowboy hat. "I don't mean the sex, stupid. I'm talking about the emotional shit neither of you are fond of showing—that you're lying here, holding her in her moment of weakness, that you're concerned about her well-being when not that long ago, you wanted to shoot her on principle. I'm talking about the fact that if one of you died, the other one would be devastated and something would break." She sat back with a little sigh and a satisfied smirk. "Neither of you would survive the loss of the other one completely intact."

Dean blinked, but returned to his position of holding Asher, with her head tucked under his chin. Was Amelia right? He would like to think she wasn't—hunters couldn't really afford to have attachments like the ones she was describing. Friends, family and lovers were just hostages waiting in the wings, just potential victims, but since Asher was a hunter, maybe something would be different... Not that it would matter, with Dean going to Hell and all, but it was a nice thought.

"Whatever you say, Amelia."

* * *

**Author's Note.**

Ugh, sorry this took so long. It was a combination of Writer's Block, lack of sleep and a stubborn OC. Asher just isn't into the emotional stuff, so I have to drug her for anything to happen sometimes. GEEZ. Anyways, enjoy.

**Next Chapter: Worst News Ever.**


	10. Chapter Ten: Worst News Ever

I don't own **Supernatural.** Darn. I do own Asher Michaels and this story, excluding the bits from the show. My friend Shauna owns Amelia Shaw, and I am using her in my story with her permission. This fic is rated for violence, blood, language, drinking, sexual situations and, hopefully, some scary shit. I don't know how good I will be at writing scary stuff since I've never actually tried before. Enjoy the stories.

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**Monster Hospital, Book Three: Werewolves.  
**Chapter Ten: Worst News Ever.

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Asher woke up half an hour later, the drugs gone from her system only to be replaced by a gnawing hunger. Amelia checked her over thoroughly and made her older sister take a shower and let her bandages be replaced before she could even think about food. Dr. Shaw even made Asher change out of her pyjamas and find clothes that she could wear comfortably in the truck before she starting eating because once she started, Asher would not stop for anything short of the death of one of her friends, her family. When she was finally allowed, she fell on the McDonald's bags like the beast she sometimes was, barely tearing the wrappings from the food before she shoved it in her mouth and not caring that the food was cold; it had come from the highway. Sam brought the other three hunters had a pizza from one of local restaurants, and they weren't finished until long after Asher had started begging for more food. Amelia had immediately set about making whatever she could out of the food that was left in the motel room and Sam had started moving around, packing his things. Dean and Asher were staring at each other across the small dining table.

"Why are you so sullen all of a sudden?" she asked, biting into the first peanut butter and jelly sandwich of the stack Amelia had just dropped in front of her with the firm declaration that the only food that was left were a couple oranges, half a carton of milk and half a sleeve of Oreos, so she was on her own. Amelia had then gone to starting packing her and Asher's things. They were going to be heading out as soon as everyone was packed and ready.

Dean shrugged as he watched Amelia cross the room. He shoved his last pizza crust around the paper plate he'd been using.

"And why have you been looking at me funny since I woke up?" She saw Dean start to blink as he looked for a lie to give her. She beat him to it. "Oh don't pretend you weren't, Dean. I caught you looking over your shoulder and peeking around Sam and Amelia. What's up with you?"

He level a look at her for a moment and then sighed and gave her the truth. "You said some emotional things when you were drugged," Dean said, getting the reaction he'd expected. Asher's cheeks flushed and she bared her teeth at Dean, warning him that if he brought any of it up—anything she remembered—he'd be dead. "I didn't take any of it too seriously," he assured her as he reached for one of her PB&J sandwiches.

She swatted his hand away. "Liar."

"Maybe." Dean ran a hand backwards over his hair and fixed his hazel eyes on Asher, trying to let her see how shaken he was. Her nostrils flared and he knew she'd picked it up, albeit by scent and not sight. "Look Ash," he said, voice quieter. "What you said... Don't worry about it. I'm not going to say anything."

"I know that Dean," she snapped, rolling her eyes and shoving the rest of her current sandwich into her mouth. The werewolf chewed slowly, blue eyes never leaving Dean's face until after she'd swallowed and she was reaching for the carton of milk. She started in on another sandwich and still her stomach growled. "Damn it, I hate painkillers. They make me so fucking hungry." Asher growled low in her throat and took another large bite. "I don't remember what I said, but if you're this shaken, it must have been pretty deep." She held up a hand as she chewed, keeping Dean quiet. "But even if I'd revealed my deepest, darkest secret you wouldn't be _this _uptight and I know it's not just because we're parting ways."

"Asher," Amelia called across the room. "Do you really have to talk with your mouth full?"

"You know Asher, she has a point," Sam said. "You really are at your most attractive when you're eating."

Dean gave a half-hearted chuckle before rubbing his hands over his face; Asher proceeded to grin and throw one of the oranges at Sam. The moment passed quickly however. Amelia and Sam were busy chatting on the other side of the room, laughing about something; if he was going to tell Asher what was up, now was the time. He wanted to tell her in private, deal with her reaction before he told Amelia, but he knew it wouldn't stay between him and Asher for long anyway, even if they were locked in a room. Asher was bound to freak out. Loudly. "Ash... I have something to tell you, but you have to let me get through it before you scream, yell or hit me, okay?"

Asher chewed slowly again as she watched Dean. Her nostrils flared again. "Fine." It wasn't a promise, but it was as close as he was going to get. He didn't think it would matter.

"I made a deal," he said as fast as he could.

Her blue eyes narrowed sharply and she dropped the sandwich back on the plate. She turned and put both her hands palms-down on the table, leaning forward; a dangerous posture for the werewolf. "A deal with who, Dean?"

"You said you'd let me finish—"

"Who?" she hissed.

"A crossroads demon."

Asher did something then he hadn't expected. She went quiet. She sat back in the chair and continued to stare at Dean, waiting for him to say something or do something, anything, her arms crossed under her chest and the most hostile look he'd ever seen directed at a friend on her face. Dean didn't say anything, just let her stare it out. Her eyes started to swirl with the lighter blue of her wolf, but she chased it away with a shake of her head. Finally, she ran the fingers of one hand back through her black hair and sighed heavily. She closed her eyes and when she opened them, they were hostile again, but they were the normal cobalt blue.

"How long?" she asked.

Dean didn't have to ask what she was referring to. "Around three months."

"Out of a _year_?"

Asher still wasn't yelling, but Dean could tell it was close. All he could do however was nod.

"Three months out of a year? A _year?_" She cursed under her breath, said something he couldn't make out that sounded like a threat. Then she started yelling, out of nowhere. "How could you make a hell deal Dean?" she barked, rising to her feet and slamming her hands against the table top. She had drawn the attention of Sam and Amelia but she didn't care. "How could you throw your life away? You're not stupid enough to think you'd get something out of the deal without dying! HOW COULD YOU DO IT DEAN?"

"I DID IT TO SAVE SAM!" Dean replied, rising to his feet.

"And we've spent most—"

Asher wheeled on the taller Winchester and took several quick steps across the room, teeth still bared and fingers tensed like claws. Amelia jumped in front of Sam, arms out in front and Dean grabbed Asher's arm, pulling her back around until they were almost touching, more than close enough to see each other's anger. Dean was angry because he knew he'd done the right thing to save his brother from the Yellow-Eyed Demon and Asher was mad because Dean hadn't told her what he was going through. Dean hadn't meant to hurt anyone when he'd saved his brother and Asher, for some bizarre reason felt guilty. They started staring at each other again and Sam and Amelia took that moment to take the bags they had packed out to the waiting vehicles and leave the more volatile hunters alone.

As the door shut behind them, Asher bared her teeth again, but it wasn't as much a gesture of aggression as it had been before. It was a gesture of frustration, but it was more potent because they were standing closer together. "How could you not tell me Dean?" she whispered.

"I..."

"I care about you Dean."

"I know you do, Ash..."

"I care about you _a lot _and the thought that you're only going to be around for three more months, if that..." She grabbed the front of his shirt and balled her hands into fists and pulled Dean against her, looking down at her hands. He placed his hands on her hips and looked down at Asher from the couple inches he had on her. "Dean, I am not prepared for this," she said, her voice barely audible. Asher leaned into Dean and put her forehead against his chest. "I'm prepared to get the shit kicked out of me; I'm prepared to face death with every case... Fuck Dean, I'm prepared for almost anything, but the thought of losing you..."

"I thought the painkillers had worn off."

Asher sniffed back the sudden tears in her eyes. "Shut up Dean." She pulled back from the hunter and dropped onto the closest bed. Dean sat down beside her. "How could you not tell me?"

"I don't know, Ash, really. I haven't really told anyone. The more people who know—"

"It becomes more real. Gotcha." Asher leaned her head on Dean's shoulder and sniffed again; maybe the painkillers hadn't worn off all the way yet. Or maybe she was just emotional. Nah.

"You know Ash, you could help make my last few months on Earth memorable," Dean whispered against the top of her head.

Asher sat up and turned to look at Dean, who was grinning at her with his favourite sleazy look in his eyes and suggestive smirk on his lips. She loved the look, but she scoffed and shoved Dean off the bed, a small laugh escaping her lips. "You're a pig Dean."

He pulled himself up to look at her over the edge of the bed and said, "Can you blame me?"

The distraught werewolf dropped to the floor with a thud and leaned back against the bed. Her injuries were a little sore and stiff, but she took to the uncomfortable position because it put her close to Dean and she really didn't want to be anywhere else at the moment. She didn't care about the pain. "No, I can't blame you," she whispered, turning so her face was close to Dean's.

He moved so their noses were touching and then kissed her. Asher kissed him back and wished more than anything that her and Amelia weren't leaving then, that the life of hunters allowed them to stay in one place for longer than a little while, that she and Dean could hole up somewhere for a few days and just... be. Somewhere in her mind, Asher knew that she had fallen for Dean and fallen for him hard, but she wasn't going to tell him that. Dean and Asher pulled back from each other at the same time and Dean got to his feet before helping Asher to hers; he had known she was in pain sitting on the floor.

The door opened and Sam and Amelia walked slowly in, testing the situation. When no one yelled or threw anything or attacked, Amelia walked over to her sister. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Good." Amelia turned to Dean and punched him lightly in the shoulder. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Was I just supposed to let Sam die?"

"No, but I wasn't talking about that. You're an idiot because you didn't tell your werewolf that you gave your life for your brother's when you knew she'd get angry. You're an idiot because you're still trying to soldier through everything alone when you have friends and family who are here to help you through it." She punched him again, but there was a smile on her lips. "You're just an idiot, Dean."

He hugged the girl, knocking her cowboy hat off her head. "Thanks Amelia."

Asher walked over to Sam and stared up at him. "I'm sorry I got so angry."

"It's all right Ash. I understand why."

"It was still stupid, Sam. But I would do the same for Amelia, so I have no right to get mad."

"Don't worry about it Asher."

The werewolf hugged Sam, something she didn't do often. "I guess we'd better get going before it gets too hard to walk away."

Sam nodded. "We'll see you again before his time is up," he whispered.

"You'd better. Even if you have to drag him to wherever we are."

"I promise, Ash."

"Good."

The hunters set about packing up the rest of the room in silence, each moving about as if they knew where the others were going to be. That wouldn't be that farfetched, either, but it wasn't the reason. No one wanted to press any buttons and set off another screaming match. There was a tension under the calm surface that no one wanted to break. When everything had been packed up, the room double-checked for anything left behind, and the Impala and the truck were loaded, the quartet of hunters moved outside into the mild air and Asher climbed behind the wheel of her truck.

"Let's get moving before the sun sets. I want more food."

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**Author's Note.**

So this title is super lame, but it goes with the first one in the next book, as you can see. *points to the chapter title at the bottom of the page* Also, I couldn't think of anything more poetic, so sue me.

And again, sorry it took so long. School sucks.

Anyways, enjoy.

**Next Story: She Don't Want the World (ONE-SHOT). **Dean and Sam are fighting Changelings and aren't having an easy time of it. They call in Asher and Amelia as backup, but it turns out they aren't needed. By the time they arrive, the monsters are gone and Dean is in the process of saying a very hard goodbye to a woman he cares very much about, a woman he's never mentioned to Asher, not that he had a reason to. Asher's jealous, not that she has a right to be. Can she deal with this new development? Can she accept that she's not the only woman in Dean's life that means something for more than one night?  
**Next Book: Angels. **Dean survived Hell and returned to Earth somehow. Asher and Amelia rush to see him and Sam, who they haven't seen or spoken too in almost a year. When they get there, something weird happens. Something weird that opens a whole can of worms no one saw coming.  
**First Chapter: Best News Ever. **


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